


Mother Knows Best (20th Anniversary Edition)

by Cassandra_Elise



Series: Mother Knows Best [1]
Category: The Avengers (TV 1961)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, British English, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Elise/pseuds/Cassandra_Elise
Summary: Emma Loses a Husband.Steed Gains a Wife.Cathy Shares a Memory.Tara Tries to Forget.Story originally posted on FF.net. Newly revised for grammar and plot holes.
Relationships: Cathy Gale/Original Character, Emma Peel & John Steed, Emma Peel/John Steed
Series: Mother Knows Best [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808785
Kudos: 8





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Nineteen years ago (I rounded up to twenty for the title, cos' it sounds better), I watched Forget-Me-Knot for the first time. I was so devastated and disappointed with Mrs. Peel's departure that I immediately set about writing a fanfiction to correct it. I posted it, along with its sequels and prequels on fanfiction.net, where I had about three years' notoriety for my Mother Knows Best series. Then I went off to college and no longer had time for fanfic. When the great Patrick Macnee died in 2015, I revisited my story and was appalled at the sloppiness of the grammar, the glaring plot holes, and the awkward character assassination of Tara. For a fifteen year-old, it was quite an impressive undertaking, but for someone who is now double that in age, I'm embarrassed to have my name attached to it. So I decided to revise the work, getting rid of all grammar errors and plot holes and softening my disdain for Tara. The essence of the story is still the same. It is unabashedly a love story that happens to have some mystery and wild sci-fi undertones. If this is not your cup of tea, I understand. For the rest, I hope you enjoy this "20th anniversary" edition.

**Teaser**

A large stately hotel rose above the other buildings in London, England. A tall man donning shades entered the hotel and hurried to one of the multipurpose rooms located on the first floor. Removing his sunglasses, he stepped up to an obese man in a wheelchair.

"Ah, Smyth, you finally arrived," the fat man said.

"I left my flat as soon as I got your message," Smyth replied to his companion almost apologetically. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"As you know, we’ll be hosting a party here later this evening. Several people we haven't seen in a while will be present, including Emma Peel. She will naturally hover around Steed, and the two will be inseparable the rest of the evening." He gazed at two photographs in his hands before setting them down on a table.

One of the pictures was of a gorgeous woman with reddish brown hair and an alluring smile. The other photo was of a gentleman attired in a suit and matching bowler. He had a rather puckish grin spread across his handsome face.

"We must make sure they don't discover the truth at the fete," the man in the wheelchair continued, "understand?"

"All right, Mother; you know best," Smyth droned in an almost hypnotic tone. He snapped out of is delirium and marched out of the room, determined to do his job right.

The other man, or "Mother" sighed dismally and shook his head. He wheeled out of the room after Smyth, clutching the two photographs.

**Mother Knows Best**

**Emma Loses a Husband**

**Steed Gains a Wife**

**Cathy Shares a Memory**

**Tara Tries to Forget**

  


The gathering was the usual affair for the year, the summer of 1969 to be exact. One hundred or so people were milling around in an enormous open room, the women wearing their miniskirts and outrageous hairdos, the men dressed formally and casually— no tuxedos, please! Some men, mostly the younger chaps with more spunk, were dressed rather too casually for the party, which was quite a crime for a certain well-heeled gentleman.

He stood off to the right of the room, brandy glass in hand, discussing the inclement weather for the time of year. Dressed in an expensive grey suit, he had the air of a man who knew his proper place in society and wasn't ashamed to show it. His bowler hat and umbrella, two necessities for traveling, were hanging on the hat rack near the entrance of the room and most likely would still have been with him if it were decent for such a get-together.

His charming partner for the evening was adorned in a sleeveless, lime green dress complete with miniskirt. The outfit hugged her shapely figure, and the low cut front and high cut bottom revealed a little too much skin to be entirely decent. Despite these drawbacks, the woman was looking rather lovely. Her bobbed dark brown hair had been left alone, and her eye shadow was a perfect match for the lime green dress and brought out the unnatural paleness of her blue eyes. Her little lime purse not only completed the whole ensemble, but housed a heavy brick to be used on any unsuspecting villains.

As was mentioned before, the couple was immersed in the trivial subject of the weather. They undoubtedly would have been discussing a much more fascinating topic if it weren't for the fact that a third party member was present at the moment. This lady lacked the intellectual quality that had made the other two quite partial to each other.

In fact, she had just remarked quite stupidly that she recognised every face in the room. This could have been amazing if it weren’t for the fact that this was a work party for everyone at a certain company, a spy agency actually. No one knew the name of the agency, except, of course, the people who worked there, so over the years, the spies became known to the rest of the world as the “Avengers.”

On this certain evening, the agents, retired and still enrolled, amateur and professional, were gathered at a fancy room at a hotel, celebrating the anniversary of the agency’s founding. They were waiting for the host to show himself, as it was a themed mystery party. One of the guests was the “host” of the party and everyone had to guess who the person was based on hints. If they guessed correctly, they would win a ridiculous chintzy prize that is customary at such social functions.

The woman who had been commenting so stupidly that she knew everybody was Mrs. Diana Parker. How she had graduated from spy school was a mystery in itself, but being that all were proper British folk, they never mentioned this.

Suddenly, Mrs. Parker asked her two polite but bored companions, "Who do you suppose is the host?"

  
The other lady replied, "I have no idea." This was a lie, but the lady felt it was the only decorous thing she could think to say to an ignorant woman. In actuality she wanted to boast that she had figured out the mystery host’s identity at the start of the evening, but no one liked a braggart, especially not her partner and mentor.

"Really, Tara!" cried the gentleman. "I'm surprised that you don't even have a guess!" Tara gave him a look, which he got immediately.

"Miss Tara King, I think you have something to do with this mystery!" exclaimed Mrs. Parker. "And the same goes for you, Mr. Steed." Tara and Steed exchanged wry glances, for they knew for certain that they were _not_ involved in the mystery. "I must tell Mother of my discovery!" Mrs. Parker walked over to a terribly obese man who was puffing a cigar and drinking scotch as if it were water.

Yes, this man was Mother, the head of the agency. Why he chose the name "mother" was an enigma to all agents and probably himself. It was most likely a name that had popped into his head on a whim and had seemed to stick. Perhaps he had grown tired of the former bosses’ irritating habit of going by number fractions. In any case, many of the agents had little idiosyncrasies like that, and over time, it was just accepted.

"Now that we're alone, is it all right to speak openly, or do you think the walls have ears?" asked Steed, smiling.

"Even if the walls did have ears, I'd have to tell you all that is on my mind." Tara looked suspiciously around before continuing. "I really want to know who you think the mystery host is. I believe it's Smyth; now don't laugh."

"Smyth?" Steed repeated with genuine astonishment in his voice.

"Yes," Tara began as enthusiastically as her British propriety could allow. "I heard from Pemberley that Shuston said that Smyth was the host. But then Smyth vehemently denied it and said it was Mitchell. Why else would he deny all accusations so earnestly and swear it was Mitchell unless he himself is the host?"

"No, Tara, it's not that simple," Steed argued ardently. "I believe the host is Mother."

"But everyone expects the mystery host to be Mother!" Tara protested indignantly. "He's the head of the ministry, so everyone automatically assumes he'll be the host of the party."

"That is the key point." Steed gave his empty brandy glass to a passing waitress before continuing, "Since everyone expects it to be Mother, their spy instincts will tell them that is too simple, and Mother would not be the host and make the game so easy. Thus they must guess that somebody else is the mystery host. Now knowing that everyone won't guess him, Mother can host the party with ease and stump all those gullible agents. Do I make myself clear?"

Tara began to nod her head, but then slowly and shamefacedly shook it. "Oh, Steed I'll never be as bright as you!" She stared at him adoringly then sighed. "Now that you've told me who the mystery host is, I don't know if I should still stick to my first guess. After all, I wouldn't have guessed correctly if you hadn't told me." She mulled over this for several moments until she concluded, "When the time comes I'll say that Smyth is the mystery host."

  
Steed was about to answer when the door opened and in stepped the breathtaking Mrs. Cathy Gale. She was in a plain, black shift dress, complete with a big white belt and a square buckle. Her feet were adorned with black high-heeled boots, and underneath her skirt, hidden from view, was a smart, black garter. Tucked neatly inside the garter was a small pistol. The outfit seemed to personify her outgoing yet, at the same time, restrained manner.

She walked composedly over to Steed, who grinned gregariously at his former partner in crime-fighting. "I hope I'm not intruding," she began earnestly.

"You are," returned Steed coyly. "But since you are a dear _old_ friend, I shall forgive you."

"I hope I am not old, yet!" Mrs. Gale snapped, frowning slightly.

Tired of being ignored, Tara decided to start a conversation in which all could be involved. “Is your husband joining us this evening, Mrs. Gale?"

Mrs. Gale's face clouded over for a moment, but quickly she regained enough composure to reply, "My husband has been dead these last eight years, Miss..."

“This is Tara King,” Steed supplied. “Tara, this is Dr. Catherine Gale. Former friend of the ministry. She was already a widow when we recruited her,” he added _sotto voce_ , somewhat annoyed to see that his current partner could be so inconsiderate.

“Well, that might have been nice to know,” Tara hissed back.

After standing in an uncomfortable silence that seemed to have come over the two ladies in a matter of seconds, Steed tried to make the situation light by adding, "I've often wondered why you haven't remarried, Mrs. Gale. You are a very attractive, not to mention, incredibly smart woman."

"There's no one I am remotely interested in." Cathy jostled her flowing, blond hair becomingly.

Steed smiled and glanced at the pretty waitress that had collected his brandy glass earlier. "And there's no chance of me ever marrying you. I plan to be single all of my days."

"And, I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth," Mrs. Gale replied saucily. 

Steed let out a short spurt of nervous laughter, something he did often when he had been insulted by the sharp Mrs. Gale.

"Isn't there anyone you would possibly be interested in marrying?" Tara pathetically asked Steed. 

Cathy realized what a hopeless state of infatuation Tara was in, but she kept quiet. If it was one thing she had learned in the ministry, it was to remain silent unless absolutely necessary.

Steed was about to reply when he was interrupted again. This time the intruder was not Mrs. Gale, but Mrs. Parker, who had wandered back to Tara and Steed after she had been rudely pushed aside by Mother. "Mr. Steed is rather funny to talk of being single."

"Why? I could marry anyone if I wanted to. I’ve just never wanted to. Why have only one woman for the rest of your life, when you can have them all?" Steed winked at the three ladies clustered around him.

"Oh, Steed, you are such a cad!" Mrs. Parker cried. "Of course, you can't marry anybody! We all know that you—"

"Mrs. Parker," Cathy began edgily, “ _Bimba La Trife_." Mrs. Parker placed a hand over her mouth and suppressed a giggle. Then she flitted over to Mother again.

Tara and Steed stared at Cathy as if she had suddenly had a fit of insanity. Tara expressed this thought to him by whispering, "I think our poor Mrs. Gale has fallen victim to the bottle."

Steed refused to believe this of his sensible ex-partner in sleuthing. "I'm sure _Bimba la Trife_ is just a code for something very confidential. I do recall learning a phrase similar to that when I was in training way back in the day. Now let me think . . ."

"Keep quiet," Mrs. Gale said abruptly.

Steed stopped in mid-sentence to exclaim, "Why, Mrs. Gale, you surprise me! I wouldn’t expect a lady like you to behave so rudely, and to an old friend, too!"

"Sorry, Steed, but you misunderstood me. I was merely telling you that _Bimba la Trife_ means 'be quiet' in code." Cathy placed her hands on her hips.

"You really didn't have to tell me. You know I would have figured it out. Eventually."

"I just wanted to save you the time and trouble." Cathy grimaced wryly and wandered over to the buffet table. "I'll see later, all right?" she called over her shoulder.

Steed gazed admiringly at Cathy before turning back to serious matters. "What do you think of Mrs. Parker's words?" he inquired of Tara. "Don't you find it unusual that she said I can’t get married? And what about her last words before she was interrupted by Mrs. Gale: 'We all know that you—'"

Tara shrugged nonchalantly. "I think that she is drunk and talking nonsensically."

"Then why would Mrs. Gale tell her to be quiet?" Steed scrunched his forehead in deep contemplation, while Tara let his question sink into her mind.

Suddenly, a slim woman entered the hotel room's front door, the air of a queen about her. However, the regal mien did not last long, for as soon as she spotted Steed, she pounced at him as a vivacious cat might pounce on a bird. Then she uttered a sentence that was so obvious that from any other woman's lips it would have seemed ridiculous. "Steed, you're here!"

Mr. Steed's eyes seemed to light up at the beautiful woman's presence. "Mrs. Peel, how wonderful to see you again!" He scanned her figure which was clad in a lavender dress. Tiny straps were the only thing that kept it hanging on her body, and the low cut front was not at all decent for a married woman. Mrs. Peel had sensed this, so she had wrapped a lavender feather boa around her neck, hiding everything that shouldn't be shown. "I declare you look lovelier every time I see you."

"The same goes for you, Steed," Mrs. Peel replied properly and coquettishly. Only she could make a sentence have two different intonations at the same time.

"Has it really been over a year since I've seen you last, Mrs. Peel?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she replied remorsefully. She glanced around the room, searching for the bar. "Have you tried the champagne yet?"

"No, I've been too occupied to get away from this spot."

"How is it that you found time to get a glass of brandy then?" Tara asked. Her tone was flippant, but jealousy was ripping through her veins. It seemed that every woman, excluding herself, was receiving more attention from Steed. Why, he had even talked to the infernal Mrs. Parker more!

Mr. Steed cleared his throat nervously, while Mrs. Peel raised an eyebrow. "It seems you have been more busy than you realised," Mrs. Peel said dryly.

"The truth is I wasn't in the mood for champagne," Steed confessed.

Mrs. Peel made a noise of mock dismay, followed by "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk." She cocked her head slightly to the right, her reddish brown hair falling over her left eye. "Well, since you're not interested in the most marvelous invention to come out of France, I'll just go fetch a glass of champagne for myself."

Steed didn't seem to hear her, for he was too captivated by her beauty. He wished she wouldn't make herself so darn attractive, and wondered why the most beautiful women were married, obviously forgetting about Tara, the widowed Cathy Gale, and any other single woman in the room.

Mrs. Peel sauntered over to the bar, leaving Tara and Steed once more alone. "Mrs. Emma Peel doesn't seem quite as charming as when I last saw her," Tara proclaimed, venom in her usually sweet voice.

"I find that her charm has grown over the course of time," Mr. Steed argued gallantly. When he noted his companion’s raised eyebrow, he added, "I see we have different opinions on Mrs. Peel, so I think it would be wise to drop it."

Emma returned with her glass, sipping and making a sour face. "This champagne is ghastly! Here, try it for yourself and see what you think." She thrust her glass at Steed but somehow managed not to spill a drop.

Steed tasted the champagne, shook his head, and sighed. "It really is dreadful. I wonder what came over Mother when he purchased this vintage."

"Steed, you'll give the mystery host away!" Tara cried indignantly.

"Don't worry, I had already figured it out before I arrived." Emma Peel directed her attention back to Steed. "Somehow I don't believe Mother knew about the champagne. Hosts don't usually cater their own party unless they want the absolute best in everything . . ."

"And Mother isn't a person who cares if his _hors d'oeuvres_ are soggy and his champagne is too sweet," Steed finished her sentence.

Mrs. Peel didn't seem to mind his interruption. But this was understandable, since finishing each other’s sentences was an old habit of theirs. She took the champagne glass back from Steed and sipped it again. "What year do you think this is from?"

"Nineteen forty-three, I dare say. Nineteen forty-three has a very sugary taste to it, very much like this awful drink."

"Really? I was sure it was 1942!"

"It certainly is not! Nineteen forty-two is bearable, but a year earlier makes it very sweet, more like soda than champagne! A perfect champagne must be mellow but with a tinkling bite to it."

"You're right, Steed.”

“As he always is when it comes to wine," Tara said, trying to stake her claim in the conversation.

Emma arched an eyebrow at her and fixed her with an amused smirk. “Oh, is that so?”

Steed seemed oblivious to the tension building between his former and current partner. "I must speak to Mother about this immediately. I don't care if it will give the secret host away; this is intolerable! Excuse me, ladies." He set off in search of his boss and host for the evening.

Mrs. Peel looked at the glass in her hand and offered it to Tara. Tara, too distracted watching Steed, took the glass willingly. Automatically, she brought the glass to her lips but stopped herself from drinking it just in time. She beckoned to a passing waitress, who took the detested glass away.

Tara addressed her rival, "Do you two often share champagne glasses? It seems rather intimate, doesn’t it, Emma? You don't mind if I call you ‘Emma,’ do you?"

Emma didn't seem the least bit fazed at this line of inquiry. "Occasionally we do, but usually we have separate straws. 

“I really am not accustomed to being called 'Emma', so I would prefer if you called me Mrs. Peel like everyone else."

"Don't tell me your husband doesn't even call you 'Emma'?" After receiving no response, Tara inferred that Emma was not familiar with her husband calling her by her first name. "I feel sorry for you then, _Mrs_ . _Peel_."

"Listen, let's not pretend you aren't jealous of me," Emma Peel began placidly. "I am quite aware of your infatuation with Steed. Most every girl fancies herself in love with him at least once in her life. It would be unnatural if they didn't feel something for a brave, smart, dashing man like John Steed." 

Her complacency irked Tara even more than Mr. Steed's devout attention to Emma. "Have you ever been in love with him?"

This question put Emma off guard, but she quickly regained her composure. "I admit that I formed an attachment to Steed for a while, but after someone saves your life a dozen times, it's quite natural to have feelings for them, unless you're totally heartless. Now if you'll excuse me, I must find something to wash this horrid taste out of my mouth." Mrs. Peel walked away, the air of a martyr about her.

Meanwhile, Steed was trying to tell Mother what was wrong with his champagne. "Mother, I must speak to you about this champagne; it's dreadful." He glanced at the man in the wheelchair, who was sitting behind a long table. Mrs. Parker and Mother's personal assistant Rhonda were standing next to him.

Mother looked up from his scotch. "Steed, I've been looking for you," he began grimly.

"Then you agree with me?" Steed perched himself on the edge of the table.

"What the devil are you going on about?" When Steed looked confusedly at him, he continued, "Mrs. Parker tells me you've been talking about marriage and so forth."

"Oh, Mrs. Parker, that's a wonderful offer, but I'm afraid I must refuse you. Besides, unless I am mistaken, you're married already." Steed simpered, his grey eyes sparkling.

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Parker looked around in wonderment as if Steed might be addressing another Parker in the room.

"Steed," Mother started, nails drumming impatiently on the table, "what did Mrs. Parker tell you earlier?"

"Merely that I can't marry someone because we all know that I—"

"What? You what?" Mother leaned forward in his wheelchair, his scotch sloshing around in the glass.

"That's all; isn't that right, Mrs. Parker?" Steed glanced from Mrs. Parker to Mother, trying to read their faces.

"Yes, that's what I told Mother, but he wouldn't believe me!" On the verge of crying, Diana Parker sighed and tried to stop her trembling lip. "Then Cathy Gale appeared and told me to," she paused and began to whisper, " _Bimba La Trife._ "

"That means 'be quiet,'" Steed unnecessarily informed Mother.

"Cathy Gale was present? Well that makes all the difference in the world! You are dismissed."

Steed was about to protest, but he changed his mind. The ordeal with the champagne would have to wait until later. He walked over to Tara, and was surprised to find that Mrs. Peel was no longer there. "Did you frighten off poor Mrs. Peel?"

"She left on her own free will, and I think it had to do with a terrible taste in her mouth." Tara smiled beguilingly at Steed and linked her arm with his. "Well, since you are my escort for the evening, don't you think it would be appropriate if we danced or something?"

"Not now," Steed replied distractedly, "I really must find Mrs. Peel and tell her of the most extraordinary thing."

"Well, tell me instead." Tara yanked at his arm, trying to hold him back.

"Really, Tara, you're being very unfair to Mrs. Peel. I'll be able to talk to you tomorrow, while Mrs. Peel I might never see again! I won't be long, so don't worry. We'll still have time to dance, eat, and drink champagne—well we can't do that..." Mr. Steed hurried to find his friend, leaving Tara in a miserable state of pouting.

It wasn't difficult to find her, for spotting the effervescent Mrs. Peel was like seeing a beacon of light on a stormy night. She was standing by the band, conversing with the conductor about the difference between _marcato_ and _staccato_ . Steed couldn’t help thinking Mrs. Peel was an expert on _everything_. Sensing Steed's presence, she abruptly stopped her conversation and whirled around. "I see you found me!" she exclaimed.

Steed wondered if it was a figment of his imagination, or if she really was delighted to see him. "So I have. I thought Tara had frightened you away, but she denied all accusations." He grinned good-naturedly and ushered her away from the conductor. "I'm often surprised at how few people hire real bands to perform at their parties anymore."

"There has been a steady decline since the beginning of the decade," Mrs. Peel added, studying her companion’s face. They walked casually into the adjacent room of the hotel where it was quiet. The room was empty except for a few supplies clearly meant for the party next door, including several cases of the ill-tasting champagne. "What's the matter, Steed?" she asked.

Steed explained the strange ordeal with Mrs. Parker's insensible comments and Mother's angry reactions. He concluded with the words, "I have no idea what this is all about, but I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. It's really not like Mother to be so evasive with me, or with any of the other agents for that matter."

"To me it sounds like Mrs. Parker was saying that there is something preventing you from being married. Tell me, how’s your—uh—health?”

“Everything is in working order, Mrs. Peel, I can assure you.” The horrified look in Steed's eyes was enough to show Emma Peel that he thought the idea outrageous and impossible. 

“Did you make any sort of monastic vow when you joined the ministry?” Mrs. Peel teased.

Steed snorted derisively. “Have you met me?”

“Then maybe Mrs. Parker is saying you are _already_ married?”

“To whom?”

Emma shrugged. “Someone who is a mixture of Lucretia Borgia and Joan of Arc, I suppose.”

“That would be terribly inconvenient to find I’ve been married all this time without enjoying any of the benefits!”

Emma smoothly changed the subject by saying "Speaking of marriage, my husband has been behaving in a peculiar manner ever since he came home almost over a year ago."

"Being that I'm unmarried, I don't know how husbands are supposed to behave. For all I know, what one wife thinks is strange behavior another woman finds perfectly normal."

"You don't call being away on 'business' nine months out of twelve a common occurrence, do you?"

"You must be joking, Mrs. Peel!"

"No, I wish I were. What's worse is when he _does_ come home, he stays out most nights."

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it seems to me that there might be another woman involved." Steed cleared his throat nervously.

"Steed, don't look so chagrined. I can assure you it is not a woman, which, I admit, surprised me, too. You see, during the three months that my husband was home, I bribed my neighbor, Mrs. Wadsworth, to spy on him whenever I went out. Every time I returned to my flat, I'd get the same story from Mrs. Wadsworth: 'Your husband had a mysterious man over again. They talked for a while and then left together.' 

“I even hired one of our fellow agents to track my husband down when he was gone for those long months. The ministry didn’t discover anything that raised their suspicions, so they stopped trailing him.”

“So he’s never been near another woman the entire time?”

Mrs. Peel shook her head. “He's also never been near an airplane."

"But he's a pilot for a living!" Steed exclaimed.

"I am quite aware of that." Emma sighed and continued, "I followed him on several occasions and he always went to an office building. When I confronted him on this, he said he’s too frightened to go flying since his accident in the Amazon. I suppose I could live with a husband who no longer flies, but he won’t tell me what his new job is. The bedrock of a relationship is honesty and trust, but Peter isn’t sharing anything with me.

“Another peculiarity has come up, which might interest you. My husband receives phone calls from someone who calls him ‘William.’”

Steed shook his head. “So Peter Peel the pilot has returned and says he’s neither a pilot nor named Peter.”

"Furthermore, Peter, or whatever you want to call him, doesn't behave like a gentleman at all!" Emma thought to herself, _It's insulting to think he wears a bowler hat and those sharp suits like Steed, considering how he isn't half the gentleman Steed is!_

Steed mused, _I can't believe a wonderful woman like Emma Peel could be married to a hackneyed liar like Peter Peel!_ He said aloud, "I think I'll have a look into this mystery, Mrs. Peel, if you don't mind."

"I was hoping you would. That's why I told you." Mrs. Peel smiled provocatively and gazed into Steed's eyes.

Suddenly, the lights turned off, and a gunshot was heard resounding through the empty hotel room. Without any words, Steed and Mrs. Peel began devising a plan. Unfortunately, before they could finish, the lights snapped back on to reveal a man in a black mask standing one foot away from them.

He brandished a revolver from his pocket and, grabbing Mrs. Peel around the neck, pointed the gun at her head! "Not a move, or Mrs. Peel dies!" he threatened menacingly. Another man, dressed similarly in black with a mask, fired his gun at the ceiling again.

Steed eyed the nearest object, a bottle of champagne, and wondered if he could grab it without being noticed. Slowly he inched near the bottle, pausing every time one of the men turned to look at them. He noticed the two men were pushing Mrs. Peel to the door, laughing wickedly all the way. _A little closer_ , he encouraged himself.

Meanwhile Cathy was in the other room, wondering if anyone else had heard the two gunshots over the din of conversation and music. Judging how everyone was still making merry, she doubted it. She scanned the crowd looking for Steed to see if he had heard the troublesome noise as well. Then her heart sank. He and Mrs. Peel were missing. 

She slipped out into the hallway and crept up to the door of the adjoining room. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, she could see Mrs. Peel being dragged backwards at gunpoint by two men. Mrs. Gale’s own pistol was tucked away in her garter, and she wished she could storm the door and shoot them both. But she needed a distraction, or the two men would kill Mrs. Peel in cold blood before she had a chance to fire her shot. She silently cheered when she saw Steed reach for the champagne bottle.

Mrs. Peel was probably the most anxious of them all. She willingly let them push her toward the door, feigning a calm air as if being kidnapped was an everyday occurrence. Inside, though, she was quaking. She had had many close escapes from death before, but each time she was a little more afraid. _I've got to kick the gun out of this man's hands_ , she told herself. _It's the only way to get me out of this jam unless Steed can do something_.

Steed snatched the bottle from the table and pretended to trip. The two men turned around, dragging Mrs. Peel along with them. Steed straightened up and smiled mischievously. "I thought you two could use some champagne before you left." With that, he rolled the bottle down the floor until it collided with one of the two men. He was sent sprawling to the floor, knocked unconscious.

Unfortunately, it was not the man pointing the gun at Mrs. Peel's head, but Mrs. Peel had expected that. When his partner fell to the floor, he turned his head to investigate. Mrs. Peel chose this moment to knock the gun out of his hand, and the revolver sailed through the air, landing by Steed.

Steed snatched the revolver from the ground before either of the men could make another move. He pointed it directly at them both, of course not pulling the trigger since Mrs. Peel was still in the man's grasp, preventing a clear shot. "Let Mrs. Peel go immediately," he ordered gruffly. His command was willingly obeyed, and Mrs. Peel hurriedly fled to Steed's side.

The man in the mask glanced askance at his unconscious partner and his revolver, which was lying nearby. He made a dash for it, but Mrs. Gale had reached the spot first and, stepping on the revolver, pointed her own little pistol at his head. She didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough for the criminal to shrink back in fear.

"You're outnumbered, Sir," Mrs. Peel announced cheekily to the criminal. The man hesitated for a moment and then began wrestling with the unsuspecting Mrs. Gale!

Carefully aiming at the man and not Mrs. Gale, Steed pulled the trigger of the gun in his hands. It made a clicking noise, but no bullets shot out. Steed checked the chamber for bullets and then tried firing again while Mrs. Peel went to the aid of Cathy. The gun produced the same clicking noise. Nothing.

Emma and Cathy were able to push the man off, but even after being defeated two times, the criminal remained in the room. He walked over to Steed and proclaimed evenly, "I would like my gun please."

"Well, I'm not quite finished with it." Steed pulled the trigger again and stared in wonderment when nothing happened.

"Let me see that.” Cathy Gale grabbed for the gun.

Impulsively, Steed pulled the trigger, and this time a loud bang rang through the hotel room as a bullet ripped through the air. The criminal grabbed the gun from the astounded Steed and dashed out of the hotel room, leaving his reviving partner behind him.

The remaining man in the black mask looked around him groggily from the floor. When he realised his partner had fled, he quickly scampered to his feet and, looking about him, spotted his gun under Cathy's foot. He tripped her, grabbed the gun, and fled. Cathy sat on the floor, stupefied at her assailant's quick maneuvers.

Steed helped Cathy to her feet. “We should get back to the party and inform Mother of the attempted kidnapping,” he said.

The three returned to the adjacent room. Tara was the first to see them. “There you all are! We’re taking votes for the mystery host.” She started to hand them slips of paper but stopped short when she noted their expressions. “What’s wrong?”

As Steed explained the situation to Tara, Mrs. Gale went in search of Mother to fill him in. 

"I'm so sorry that I didn't help you three," Tara said, after hearing the story. "I didn’t know what was going on. I—"

Steed hugged her gently. "It's all right. As you see, nothing came of it anyway. No one was injured, only shaken."

Emma Peel silently approached the twosome. In fact, she startled them when she remarked, "I see that I'm interrupting something.” Instead of apologising, she launched ahead, “Steed, why do you suppose they chose to attack me and tonight of all nights when I was in the company of other agents?"

"I don’t know," Steed replied. "And did you notice how the revolver wouldn't fire until I pulled the trigger three times? I believe the gun either had a malfunction, or—"

"It was built that way," Emma finished thoughtfully. “But why build a weapon that way?”

“To dissuade others from using it?” he suggested. They both stood there, contemplation written across their brows.

Tara crept away, searching for a person who wouldn’t ignore her. She found Mrs. Gale and handed her a slip of paper to vote for the mystery host. As the votes were tallied, Steed and Mrs. Peel continued to talk over the perplexing episode.

Neither of them realised they were neglecting the rest of the guests nor remembered anything about the mystery host until Mother asked, "So, Steed and Mrs. Peel, you've outwitted two intruders this evening, but can you outwit the rest of the guests? Everybody else has taken a guess at who the mystery host is except you two, and they were all wrong. So who do you think it is?" He chuckled merrily, thinking he had stumped them all, but his laughter was short lived.

In their most complacent voices, Steed and Peel replied, "You're the mystery host, naturally." 

Mother's face turned solemn as he announced, "Steed and Mrs. Peel are correct." He gesticulated to his assistant Rhonda, who was holding two bottles of champagne. With a prominent air he presented them with the prizes. "Here you are."

"Thank you, Mother, but I must refuse," Steed interjected politely but with a twinkle in his eye. "Bad vintage, you know." Ignoring Mother's grunts of surprise, he continued, "Now if you'll excuse me, I must escort these three ladies home. Mrs. Peel, Tara, Mrs. Gale, shall we go?"

"Lead the way, sir," Emma Peel responded in her most dignified tone. Tara and Cathy sauntered over to their "escort," and all four of them exited the room.

"Humph," was all Mother said.


	2. First Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma dusts for fingerprints. Steed visits Scotland Yard. Tara uncovers a clue.

**First Morning**

Mrs. Peel was cleaning her flat to keep her mind off the incident with the men in black from the previous evening. Long quadratic equations and scholarly articles on Shakespeare were just not calming her nerves today. She figured the dullery of housework might. When she thought of what could have happened if Steed (and Mrs. Gale) hadn't saved her, she almost gave an undignified shriek of alarm.

"I still have plenty of things to do before I die," Emma murmured to herself. Wasn’t that one of the reasons she had given up spy work in the first place? She couldn’t rightly remember anymore.

Her agitation was further heightened by the hostile behaviour of her husband. He had come home late the following evening, no explanation of his whereabouts and had sniped at all her questions. After puttering around in the living area until quarter to three, keeping Emma awake in the bedroom, he had fallen asleep on the sofa. Then that morning he had simply barked, “I’m going out,” before storming off in a huff.

“Why are men so absurd?” she muttered as she tried to dust a high shelf in her dining room. This was rather difficult, for she had to perch precariously on a small stool while elongating her arm toward the small spot. In a short while, her body refused to balance and stretch, and she fell to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

"Oomph," Mrs. Peel groaned as she hit the floor. She gazed at the feather duster with distaste. "This is the last time I'm using you." She tossed it disgustedly across the floor, where it slid under her china cabinet. "Bother it all." Mrs. Peel reached under the cabinet to retrieve the  detested object. "One comforting thought is that no one has to know I've been forced to this degrading state." Her hands brushed something cool, but it wasn't the handle of the duster but of a revolver!

Emma pulled it out of its hiding place, staring at it incredulously. She owned a gun, to be sure, but she never stowed it under her china cabinet. That would be careless. "I wonder if this is Mr. Peel's? But then why would he hide it in this dirty place? Why would he hide it from me at all?" She opened the bullet shaft to discover six new bullets gleaming at her.

The weapon seemed vaguely familiar to her, and as she cradled the gun thoughtfully inside a handkerchief, she tried to recall where she had seen it before, or a revolver similar to it. Suddenly she remembered the peculiar gun at the party, the one that wouldn't fire until after three attempts. Her eye keenly fixed on a downy couch pillow, Emma fired the gun and was not at all surprised when nothing happened. Two more tries, and on the fourth, a clear shot resounded through the apartment building.

Mrs. Peel pursed her lips together tightly and phoned Steed.

****

"What was so important that I must come over immediately?" Steed asked in his usually charming way as soon as he entered her flat. He had to admit it, being in her flat again gave him a rush of nostalgia. 

Emma pointed a revolver at him in response. Steed jumped back in alarm. "Why, Mrs. Peel, what has come over you?"

"I've found something that may be a clue to the mystery."

"The one that involves your husband, or the one that involves those nasty intruders from last night?"

"Both, if you can believe it." Mrs. Peel handed him some latex gloves like the ones she was wearing and after he obligingly put them on, handed him the gun. She then walked over to a nearby table where a bottle of champagne was sitting. She picked it up. "Shoot at the cork on this bottle."

Mr. Steed raised his eyebrows.

"It's the right vintage if that's what you're worried about," she assured him.

"I was more puzzled at why I must wear these ridiculous gloves and shoot at a cork, but if you insist..." Steed pulled the trigger and repeated the whole procedure that Mrs. Peel had just gone through thirty minutes earlier and what he had gone through the previous evening. 

"Incredible," was all he could manage to say after he was through. "Your husband is one of the kidnappers?”

"Certainly not! It must be a different gun.”

“But that would mean there is more than one gun in the world that only shoots after pulling the trigger three times,” Steed pointed out.

Emma knew it was ludicrous, but the alternative was even more unfathomable. “What I'm thinking is that one of the kidnappers from the party hid this weapon in my flat when I wasn't around, like late last night while I was still out with you! That way he could sneak into my flat one of the nights my husband wasn't home and try to harm me again." Mrs. Peel poured some champagne for both of them from the newly opened bottle. She purposely avoided eye contact with Steed.

"Was your husband home last night?" Steed asked suspiciously.

"Well...yes," Mrs. Peel stammered.

"Did you ever leave your flat after you got home from the party last night?"

"No."

"Then when could the criminal have sneaked in and planted this gun somewhere in your home? I know you, and you have excellent hearing. Are you saying that you wouldn't have heard someone breaking into your house and creeping around? And what about your husband; he  would have probably heard the man, too."

"I suppose you're right," Mrs. Peel mumbled in an un-Mrs.-Peelish way, "but then how did the revolver get in here?"

"As I mentioned before, the gun must belong to your husband." Mrs. Peel was about to protest, but Steed continued, "but this man, William—er Peter— isn't really your husband."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you said this chap doesn't act at all like your husband, and that he goes by William when we know his name is Peter. His name was in the newspaper, for Pete's sake—pardon the pun.” 

“Steed, don’t you think I would notice if the man living in my home off and on for the last year was my husband?”

Steed scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That  _ does _ present a dilemma.” He snapped his finger. “He could be a clone or someone who has had plastic surgery. Maybe that is why he hasn’t been home for most of the time? Perhaps he knew if you interacted with him often enough you would get suspicious.”

Emma felt a blush of shame blossoming on her cheeks. How could a woman go so long and not notice the man she was living with wasn’t her husband? Of course, it helped that she and Peter had been nothing more than platonic roommates since his return, but Steed didn’t need to know that. It was almost as if she had purposely been ignoring the suspicions that had been accumulating in her mind since her husband returned home. Any time she thought too long and hard about the issue, a little voice would spring up and assure her it was just her imagination running away with her.

She tuned into the conversation to hear Steed say, “Therefore, the gun belongs to the man who's pretending to be your husband, and he is probably one of the kidnappers from last night.

"It all makes sense. You come home from the party, and your 'husband' is waiting for you. He obviously has hidden the revolver while you were away, and now he is just sitting there, looking as innocent as can be. He wants to harm you, no mistaking that, and now he's got the weapon carelessly hidden in your own flat. He's not a very sly one."

"You have had some outrageous ideas in your time, Steed, but this is ridiculous. For one thing, Peter came home after me last night. He wasn’t waiting to murder me in cold blood!” Emma yanked the champagne glass out of her companion’s hand. “I suggest we try to get a match on the fingerprints on the gun. If they match Peter, then we’ll know your theory is right. Otherwise, be prepared to apologise.”

Clutching the weapon tightly, Steed nodded in agreement. “We’ll ask Mother. The ministry has a database for fingerprints."

****

"I simply can't believe it; this is outrageous!" Mother shouted, completely infuriated. "I honestly can't think of anything more incredible! Mrs. Peel's husband wants to kidnap her?"

"I would be most obliged if everyone stopped jumping to that conclusion," Mrs. Peel answered, eyeing Steed as she said so. "It was clearly planted in my flat."

"By her husband," Mr. Steed added. "We haven't handled it with our bare hands, so we should be able to get some fingerprints from it and figure out if this gun belongs to Mr. Peel or not." He placed the revolver on the desk in front of Mother. “I’m sure he’s got to have fingerprints somewhere on file, what with him being a former air force pilot turned test pilot.”

"But why should we waste a valuable agent’s time looking?" Mother demanded. 

“I’d be happy to do the research,” Emma said. “I’m not busy.”

"Nonsense! This gun belongs to Mr. Peel whether you want to admit it or not!" snapped Mother.

"You cannot say that conclusively! It’s all conjecture at this point!" Emma protested. Steed realised he had only seen Mrs. Peel this angry once before: when she had discovered a man drowning in a bathtub and was infuriated Steed hadn’t warned her. Her anger quickly sizzled out into defeat. "Besides, like Steed suggested, perhaps this man isn't really my husband at all. I don’t know!" 

Mother made a sound of shock. “But that…how does that even work? Wouldn’t you have noticed before now if the man wasn’t your husband?” A discomfiting silence settled over the room. 

Emma hung her head. “In most marriages that would have been obvious, but Mr. Peel’s and my relationship had been...frigid as of late.”

Steed and Mother both had the courtesy to cough and look away. After a moment, Steed found his voice. “So can we please see if there's a match?”

Mother puffed his cigar nervously. "Just leave the gun with me or Mr. Smyth, and if you're really bent on getting fingerprints, we'll do that for you."

"You don't have to go through all that trouble. We'll be more than willing to get the information ourselves." Steed picked up the gun, and headed to the door, Mrs. Peel close behind him.

"Wait just a moment, you two. I insist you hand the gun over to me. I don't want you poking your noses where they don't belong." Mother paused a minute and added, "I mean, I don't want you to exert yourselves?"

Steed and Peel exchanged a simultaneous questioning glance before Steed demanded harshly, "Mother, what is going on? Yesterday when Mrs. Parker said all those strange things, you were more than annoyed…”

"And today you command us not to go about our job, namely investigating," Mrs. Peel finished. "Would you care to explain this to us?"

"No, I would not, and hand the gun over to me." Mother began wheeling over to them.

"This time I must disobey your orders, Mother. Good day to you." Steed opened the door and came face to face with Mr. Smyth. "Really, a spy of your stature should know better than to eavesdrop in the most obvious places."

Mr. Smyth stared coldly at him before brushing past into the room. Mrs. Peel exited with Steed, and they drove back to her apartment.

Meanwhile, Tara went to visit Steed and was surprised to find him not there. A note posted on the wall outside his flat informed her of his whereabouts, and Tara cringed at the thought of Steed visiting Mrs. Peel. The note invited her to stop over at Mrs. Peel’s if she so desired, so Tara immediately set out.

When she arrived at the apartment, Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel were immersed in a serious conversation. “Peter doesn’t even own anything in this flat except his clothes and a very hideous antique lamp that he refuses to let me throw out,” Emma was saying.

They didn't notice her arrival until she cleared her throat several times. "What is so interesting that you didn't hear me?" she asked once she had their attention.

Steed filled her in on the details, including the strange affair with Mother. When he finished, he added, "We talked to someone at the ministry more accommodating than Mother, and we were just on our way back to look at the fingerprints database."

"A wonderful idea; I'll go with you!" Tara cried enthusiastically.

"No, you'd better stay," Mrs. Peel replied. "We don't want to get you involved in this little ordeal. After all, Steed is already in trouble with Mother. It wouldn’t do to have two of his top agents in hot water."

Tara was about to protest, but Steed agreed. "Yes, that's the best plan. Maybe you could visit Mrs. Parker and see what she meant by her cryptic message, 'We all know that you—’"

"This is a fine way to treat me, Steed. I go to your flat, you're not there. Then when I find you at Mrs. Peel's place, you're going out again!"

"Don't worry; I'm not going to disappear for long. I hope not, anyway." Steed gingerly lifted the gun, and ushered Emma out the door.

"Thank you for understanding," Tara muttered sarcastically as soon as the door shut. She wandered over to Mrs. Peel's little bar and poured herself a glass of champagne. When she finished, she argued with herself for ten minutes whether she should visit Mrs. Parker or not. In the end, Tara's feet refused to move from their position on the floor. She could not,  _ would _ not talk to that simple minded Mrs. Parker while Steed escorted Mrs. Peel around the town, even if it was only to examine some fingerprints back at the ministry!

"If Mrs. Peel found the gun in her flat, then perhaps some other clues are hidden in these walls," Tara reasoned with herself. She ambled over to the china cabinet and uncovered the forgotten feather duster from under the piece of furniture. Unconsciously, she began to dust every object she inspected.

After forty-five minutes of examining every article, she wandered into the bedroom where two twin size beds stood neatly against the left wall. A bedside table separated them both, and an antique lamp was perched on top. Tara carelessly dusted the lamp, eyeing every item in the room as if it might be a clue. The lamp rocked precariously back and forth, but Tara was quite oblivious to this. Suddenly, it completely lost its balance and was about to totter to the floor when Tara snapped out of her reverie and caught it in time.

She surveyed the antique with genuine curiosity. She remembered Mrs. Peel had said this was one of the few valuables that Peter Peel had brought to the flat. There was something strange about the whole lamp, and it became even queerer when she unscrewed the top to reveal a hollow body. Tara peered into the cast iron body and spotted several letters tucked tightly into the base. After several attempts of trying to pry the notes out, she succeeded and spread them out on the bedside table to read. The first one was a simple-stated letter that made her blood run cold.

Jan. 9th, 1968

William,

I did it yesterday. I killed that lousy actor Richard Thoms before he could bat an eye. Now you hold out your end of the bargain and play Emma's husband. I hope you’ve been learning to not only act like him but to write like him. That last forged letter you sent me was a laugh. Don’t think that Emma bird would be fooled for a second. At least your face is a close enough replica now that you’ve done the surgery.

Now remember to not fall for this bird, cause we've got to kidnap her later, and I don't need you turning soft all of a sudden. Get out of the house a lot, especially since Emma ain't no dummy and will probably start getting suspicious if you're around too much.

-Ed

P.S. Destroy this letter as soon as possible, or hide it in a good place. And it had better be a very good place, or you'll be as dead as Richard Thoms.

The other letters were more of the same sentiment. From them Tara learned that Ed had befriended a struggling actor named Richard Thoms. Why, the letters didn’t say. But Ed’s accomplice had undergone plastic surgery to resemble Peter Peel, and while he was recovering, Ed had murdered Richard Thoms. And now his associate was pretending to be Mr. Peel! Not only that, but they had tried to kidnap Mrs. Peel last night at the party!

Tara shakily put the lamp back in its place and wandered to the living room. Mrs. Peel was in grave danger, and now so was Steed. "Ooh, Steed, please be careful!" Tara pleaded as she crushed one of the letters against her ample chest.

As if to answer her entreaty, Steed and Peel entered the room. "Tara," Steed exclaimed in surprise, "I thought you would be discussing the weather with Mrs. Parker by now."

"No, I didn't have any desire to be bored to death," Tara returned wryly. She began to tell Mrs. Peel and Steed about her discovery, but Steed interrupted her.

"We looked at thousands of fingerprints, but we couldn't find a match for the ones on the gun. Peter Peel wasn’t in the database, either. Strange, isn't it?" Steed set his bowler hat and umbrella down on a table. "I don't know what we're going to do now."

"While you were trying to find the owner of the gun, I found this letter hidden in Peter’s antique lamp, Mrs. Peel," Tara interrupted urgently. “Here, read it."

Emma and John immediately complied, bending over the note together. "So there  _ is _ a man pretending to be my husband, and he is the one who tried to kidnap me last night!" Mrs. Peel cried after she finished reading. "Steed, you were right!"

"Of course I was right. Your fake husband turned out to be a chap named William who owns a strange gun, and who, for some odd reason, wants to kidnap you."

"Don't forget that his accomplice Ed murdered the actor Richard Thoms," Tara reminded him.

"You know I met Richard Thoms once," Emma commented. "He was a struggling actor, but he did a tremendous performance in  _ Comedy of Errors _ on the West End. I even had a picture taken with him, but it was destroyed in a fire with all my other photos."

"All your pictures were destroyed?" Steed asked.

"Even the ones of my husband," Mrs. Peel replied. "I don't know how it happened, for that memory is rather hazy. All I remember is someone telling me about it after the great fire. I must have been injured in the fire by falling debris."

"What ‘great fire’?" Tara inquired.

"I don't recollect that either, though I do believe it occurred right before I started working with you, Steed.”

“Doesn’t that seem odd that you were involved in a ‘great fire’ that neither Tara nor I ever heard of?” Steed asked, concern unmistakable in his voice.

“Yes, I often find it odd, but then I usually shake it off as just my overactive imagination.” Emma shrugged, her doe eyes remarkably distant. “Anyway, I have one small photo left of Peter." Mrs. Peel opened a locket that was around her neck and pointed to a photo of a man putting a bowler hat on his head. In fact, the picture had been taken right as he had lifted the hat across his face. Because of this, his face, except for a bit of his nose and smile, were obscured.

"It was taken in Italy when we were on holiday." Emma explained, fondly reminiscing about the good old years. "My husband was constantly wearing his hat everywhere, even in all our pictures. My husband had lovely thick hair, so I didn't see why he wanted to hide it all the time. At one point of our holiday, he took his hat off, so I wanted to get a picture with him without his ridiculous hat on. As luck would have it, just at the moment when I took the photo, he put the hat back on, again."

"I like your husband, Mrs. Peel," Steed remarked, chuckling at the humorous tale. "By the way, when were you in Italy?"

"It was 1962, if you're interested. Why do you ask?"

"I was there that same year on some business. I wonder if I passed you on the street?"

"I highly doubt it. My husband and I walked only the best boulevards, and if I know you, you were on a spy mission in one of the filthiest parts of towns. Still, that would have been quite ironic."

"How did we get so off track?" Tara asked vexatiously.

"We were talking about Richard Thoms," Mrs. Peel reminded her, "and that bought up my memory of meeting him, and that—”

"Ah! Yes, thank you! We still don’t know why Thoms was killed in the first place.”

"We do know  _ who _ murdered him," Steed reminded her gently. "It was Ed, but what induced him to do such a terrible thing?"

"I believe we need to check into this little mystery of Richard Thoms," Emma declared, her mind busily at work.

"That's an excellent idea," Steed complimented her. "I'll phone my friend, Harold Witherspoon. He's a detective for Scotland Yard who works on tough cases, and he should have all the suspects for the Richard Thoms Case. It's a far stretch, but maybe our Ed is listed as one of the suspects."

"I've been wondering," Emma began, "if William is posing as Mr. Peel, where is my true husband?" 

Tara made no response, for she was at a loss for words. She really did not want to jump to any conclusions.

Fortunately she didn't have to, because Steed did. "Maybe he never survived the Amazon."

"I hope not," Tara and Emma replied at the same time for different reasons.

Steed looked at them strangely before dialing his friend's number. After a quick chat with Harold Witherspoon, he hung up and smiled triumphantly. "Harold has all the information we could need, including pictures. He's really anxious to find out what I've learned, so I'll leave right now." Steed grabbed his bowler hat and brolly and addressed Mrs. Peel, "This should please you, Harold also thinks he has some information on your little friend, William. Well, I'm off."

Tara hurried over to Steed. "What should I—er, I mean—we do while you're gone?"

Steed appeared to have no answer, so Mrs. Peel supplied them both with one. "I've been thinking…Mother didn't want us working on this mystery. Perhaps he knows the actual whereabouts of my husband? I figure Mr. Peel is either really lost in the Amazon, or he is being held captive somewhere."

"What are you getting at, Mrs. Peel?" Tara asked curiously.

"Mother has detailed information of every agent that's ever worked for the agency, amateur or professional. These files list information about our birth, former employment, spouses, etc. If one of us could get my file somehow, then we would really know what has become of my husband."

"And what if it just says 'lost in the Amazon, assumed dead'?" Steed inquired.

"Then I’d like to know why the ministry let me walk off with an impostor."

"Since it was your idea, you can have the honours of performing the task," Tara smiled innocently.

Mrs. Peel stared at her in amusement. "Are you sure you just don't want Mother to be angry with you if you’re caught? After all, aren't the files kept in an off limit zone?”

"Yes, they are," Tara snapped peevishly. She calmed down a bit and continued, "They used to be opened to all agents, but after several spies were caught using the information against other spies, the files were locked away. Now only Mother and agents who get permission from him can see the dossiers."

"Well, I'm sure Mother will let me see the data on Mr. Peel. He is my husband, after all, and I am entitled to know what has become of him." Mrs. Peel marched over to the doorway where Steed was standing and teasingly asked, "Are you sure  _ you _ don't want to do it instead, Tara?"

"You'd better decide soon," Steed added. "I want to know which lady I'm dropping off at ministry headquarters." He smiled at the women, thinking that it would be a pleasure to be with either of them.

Tara looked at the twosome standing far too close to each other and immediately changed her mind. "Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Peel. I'd be more than willing to investigate for you."

Mrs. Peel laughed silently to herself. Tara was certainly an easy person to read. It was quite obvious she loved Steed, and it was also apparent that she was oblivious to the fact that everyone else knew her feelings. Mrs. Peel wondered if Steed had such feelings for Tara, or if he was as much a cad as ever. The idea that Steed was in love annoyed Emma, and she didn't know why.

As Steed and Tara left, Emma wished that she hadn't badgered Tara into taking her place.

****

Steed drove up to the agency headquarters in his old yellow Rolls Royce. Smiling gregariously, he said, "Here you are. I certainly hope Mother gives you permission to see those files. I wouldn't want you waiting for me for a quarter of an hour with nothing to do because Mother refused to let you into the personnel files room."

Tara daintily stepped out, shutting the car door behind her with an equally as graceful move. “Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"When have I ever been known to worry?" Steed asked. He grinned impishly before driving off.

Mother was more than surprised to see Tara standing in his office. He was even more flabbergasted to learn that she wanted to see Mrs. Peel's dossiers. "Didn't you just look at those files last month?"

Trying to remember, Tara shrugged and frowned. She knew she had done copious research on Steed’s former partner when she was first assigned to work with him, but that was over a year ago. And she had never read any files. She had simply asked around the ministry and looked up newspaper articles on the indomitable Emma Peel. "I don't believe so," she finally concluded.

"All right, I'll send Smyth to go fetch them for you. Oh, Smyth!" Mother called over an intercom for several seconds until Mr. Smyth appeared at the door. "Ah, Smyth. Miss King wants to see Mrs. Peel's files. You know,  _ Mrs. Peel's  _ files."

Smyth froze in place. "But no one is supposed to—well…"

"Smyth, you misunderstood my orders." Mother impatiently drummed his fingernails on his desk. "Send me the portfolio with the material about Mrs. Emma Peel and her husband Peter Peel."

A light of comprehension filled Mr. Smyth's eyes, and he quickly exited the room. 

Tara stared confusedly at Mother, wondering why he and Smyth were acting so strangely. "You shouldn't have troubled Smyth. You know I would have looked for the document myself." Tara eyed Mother suspiciously as she spoke, but Mother didn't look at all fazed.

His uneasiness seemed to have passed. “Smyth knows the layout of the files much better than you. He'll find the needed dossier in half the time it would probably take you."

As if proving Mother's point, Smyth reentered the room, carrying a skinny folder. "Here you go, Agent King." Smyth handed her the portfolio but would not let go.

"Please, Mr. Smyth." Tara yanked at the folder until Mr. Smyth let go. She opened it anxiously and scanned all the data in record time. It seemed curiously light for an agent’s file. After she finished inspecting the file, she scratched her head in puzzlement. Under the information for Mr. Peel, it stated, "Was lost in the Amazon, but returned home unexpectedly in early 1968."

_ Mother must not know that there is an impostor being Mr. Peel _ , Tara thought. _I had better tell him._ "Mother, there's something you need to know about Mr. Peel."

Mother and Smyth exchanged nervous glances. "What's that, Tara?" Mother asked, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

"There is a criminal pretending to be him. He hasn’t returned from the Amazon at all! There wasn't any way you could have known this fact, since Steed and I just discovered it today. But now that you are aware about this dreadful situation, perhaps we could get some back up protection for Mrs. Peel?”

"Who told you there was an impostor running around?" Mother asked angrily.

"Nobody did; I was searching for clues at Mrs. Peel's flat, and I stumbled upon a letter." Tara was a bit taken aback by his condescending tone.

"You shouldn't trust everything you read," Mother replied, indicating that she was a rather silly girl to believe such a note.

"But it’s true! Someone named William was an accomplice to the murder of an actor called Richard Thoms and then he started posing as Mr. Peel.”

Mother seemed very alert at her last piece of information. "Do you mean to say that Richard Thoms was killed?"

"Yes! Steed phoned his friend Harold Witherspoon, who had information about who killed Thoms, and he’s there now sorting it all out. Aren't you pleased?" Tara beamed proudly, but her smile was not returned.

Mother motioned to Smyth, who immediately left the room, gun in tow. "Tara, this is all the result of an overactive imagination. No one is posing as Mr. Peel. What would be the point? I want you to go visit Mrs. Peel and give her this dossier." Mother grimaced and added, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to know that there is no man pretending to be her husband."

"But there is, and we have proof!"

"Goodbye, Tara." Mother had Rhonda escort her out the door and lock it behind her.

Tara stood in the hallway, more perplexed than she'd ever been. Mother knew something that they (Steed, Mrs. Peel, and herself) didn't, and he was doing his hardest to keep it a secret. The answer, she was sure, was lying in the off limits room. Ascertaining that no one was following her, Tara headed in that direction.

****

"Here we are, Steed." Witherspoon handed his friend a thick portfolio filled with glossies and all the information Steed could want on the Richard Thoms Case.

"Ah! This will keep me busy for a while." Steed gazed admiringly at the compilation in his hands.

"It took us a whole year to gather all this material together. I hope you'll appreciate the trouble we went through." Harold sighed forlornly as if remembering the painstaking task he had carried out.

"I'll cherish every word," Steed replied almost in earnest. He set the heavy portfolio down on the desk next to a fake statuette of Venus. He immediately began toying with the replica.

"Our sector of detectives takes deep pride in our work." Witherspoon proclaimed. "You won't see us messing about on our jobs. We are a respectable lot of detectives, who've only failed to solve five cases in the 140 years we've been in operation."

"It's that so?" Steed asked, not paying thorough attention to his friend's rants. Making himself comfortable, he perched himself on the desk.

"Of course, the Richard Thoms case is one of those five, but you have a lead. Yes, I say Scotland Yard is as solid and steady as ever."

"A beautiful creation of art," Steed remarked, referring to the statuette. "I admire the man who first thought of her."

Witherspoon, believing Steed was alluding to his detective firm, beamed in approval. "That's exactly what I thought when I first joined."

Steed realised they were talking about two entirely different things, so he only smiled in return. He set the statuette back in its place.

"So what is this clue that you've discovered, Steed? I'm really quite anxious to know." Harold Witherspoon sat back in his leather desk chair, listening intently to whatever Steed had to say.

"I've found a letter that tells us exactly who the murderer is.” Steed procured the letter from his pocket. “Ironically, I don't know much about him, except his name is Ed. You're supposed to supply me with the rest of the information."

Witherspoon put his feet up on his desk before replying, "There was an Edmund Baccarat and an Edward Skisserd on the suspect lists. You'll find them both in the folder. One of them—I don't remember which—had an accomplice he always worked with, a fellow by the name of—

"William?" Steed interrupted.

Witherspoon slid his feet off the desk in surprise. "Yes, William Avery; he's been involved in three armed robberies. But how did you know his name?"

"My good friend Mrs. Peel is acquainted with the felon. He tried to kidnap her.” Steed handed him the note to peruse. “I was talking about him earlier to you on the phone; remember? You said you might have some information about him along with the Richard Thoms case."

"Ah, yes, of course." Harold studied the note for several moments before saying, "Peel. That name sounds familiar. That's right! The last job Richard Thoms was going to do before he was murdered was to play the part of a Mr. Peter Peel."

Steed nearly fell off his desk. “Are you sure?”

"The strangest thing: he was hired by an organisation of some sort to play this woman's husband. They offered him oodles of money. His girlfriend was set up nicely after his demise. She told me that he was supposed to sweep this woman away from her current life, then ask for a divorce, and leave. Anyway, Richard Thoms accepted the part, and several days later he was killed. Is this friend of yours, Mrs. Peel, related to the man that Thoms was supposed to play?"

"They weren’t related," Steed answered evasively. "Do you have a picture of this man, Witherspoon?"

"We carry pictures of all the victims." Mr. Witherspoon went over to a file cabinet. "Do you want one with him dead or alive?"

"Preferably alive, if you don't mind." Steed stood up and began pacing back and forth, in deep contemplation.

"Here's a photo with him alive, but he has a woman with him." Witherspoon handed the photograph to Steed, wondering what was going on.

Briefly scanning the picture was all Steed needed to do to confirm his suspicions. The photograph showed a man in a suit with a mustache, looking very much like Peter Peel. Smiling happily next him was none other than the charming Mrs. Emma Peel. "One of the pictures she lost in the fire, no doubt," Steed murmured to himself.

Steed flipped through the portfolio of all the suspects until he found a picture of William Avery. He had very similar features like that of Richard Thoms, except he had no facial hair. "Do you have a black marker, Witherspoon?" Steed asked. 

Witherspoon rummaged through a drawer and retrieved the item that Steed wanted. Steed snatched it away and began scribbling a black mustache under Avery's nose. "I say, Steed, what are you doing?" Harold cried.

Steed held up his piece of art next to the picture of Thoms. "There, see how similar in appearance these two men are?" Witherspoon nodded in agreement. "Thoms was killed. Do you think this man could take his place and get away with it, especially if he underwent plastic surgery?"

"Yes, it's probable."

Portfolio under one arm, Steed managed to grab his bowler and umbrella. "Thank you for the information, Witherspoon, but I have no time to chat. I must tell Mrs. Peel." With that, Steed marched out the door.

"I thought you said that Mrs. Peel  _ wasn't _ related to Peter Peel!" Witherspoon called after him. "Hmm, that's what comes of not being a detective." If only Witherspoon knew the truth!


	3. First Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma fights her husband. Steed disappoints a friend. Tara disobeys her Mother.

Mrs. Peel was painting a still life of a bottle of champagne in a large silver bucket when Steed arrived. She beamed broadly when Steed entered the room in his usual way, by pressing a little button hidden by her front door. Mrs. Peel wiped her paintbrush on a white rag and inquired, "What interesting news did you discover?" She stepped back from her work in progress so Steed could inspect it.

Mr. Steed made no comment about the picture, but instead replied, "I found out many things that will most likely shock you."

Emma chuckled quietly and said, "Well go ahead and shock me."

Steed pulled out the photograph of William Avery. "Do you recognise this man?"

Emma Peel examined it closely before answering, "Yes, he looks like William, the man who's pretending to be my husband, except William doesn’t have such a ridiculous mustache. He has a rather distinguished one that curls at the ends."

"I drew the mustache on him myself."

"So is it William?"

“William Avery to be exact." Steed produced the photo of Richard Thoms. "Do you recognize this man?"

Emma stared at it, befuddled. “This picture was destroyed in the fire. Where did you find this replica?"

"Witherspoon had a copy of it. Who is this man, Emma—Mrs. Peel?" Steed scratched his head at his slip. "Why did I call her that?" he muttered to himself.

If Mrs. Peel noticed his  _ faux pas _ , she made no mention of it. "This is a photograph of Richard Thoms and me. It's the only time I ever saw Mr. Thoms."

"Well, how unfortunate for you. You could be a single woman by now!"

Mrs. Peel gazed at him questioningly. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Here comes the shocker: a company hired Richard Thoms to play your husband. He was to sweep you away from your job at the ministry and then ask for a divorce. Thoms never had the pleasure of doing so, for he was killed a week later and replaced by Avery."

"Why would anybody find a man to be my husband just so he could divorce me?" Mrs. Peel turned sharply away. "That's ridiculous, and I don't believe it."

Steed grabbed her arm harshly, forcing her to turn around. Mrs. Peel stared at him in astonishment. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth! Do you think I'd make up something like that for fun? Avery and his accomplice Ed must have really wanted to get near you if they risked everything to murder an actor. They want to kidnap you and possibly kill you."

"Don't worry. I can handle them," Emma replied coolly as she slipped out of Steed's firm grasp.

"I can't help but worry," Steed pronounced. 

Pleased at his comment, Emma turned a blushing face away from him. It had been quite a complimentary and romantic thing to say, and they both realised it. It was also ironic that just a few hours earlier Steed had claimed to Tara that he never worried.

Steed cleared his throat sheepishly and said, "Well, we had better have a look at the suspect files. Witherspoon said there were two possible Ed’s who might be the partner of William.” He opened the folder on a table, and he and Mrs. Peel began scanning it for any "Ed's."

After Steed had turned what seemed to be the millionth page, Emma cried out, "There he is," and pointed at the picture of a brawny man. "'Edmund Baccarat,'" Mrs. Peel read, "born in the year 1935 in Manchester, England. Arrested for rioting, looting and brawling.'"

"Friendly sort, isn't he?" Steed asked dryly.

Emma continued reading, "'Worked with several partners, including Franklin Keith and William Avery. Was spotted with William Avery near the scene of the Richard Thoms' murder.'" Emma stopped reading and sighed dismally. "Well, he appears to be our murderer. What do we do now? We have no information about his whereabouts, or when he is going to strike next."

"It will be soon, I can tell you that." Mr. Steed closed the folder emphatically. "Avery left his gun in your flat, so he obviously hopes to use the weapon in the near future."

"I'll be prepared," Emma proclaimed as she gingerly touched the revolver which was lying on the table. She then executed a few karate moves and nodded in satisfaction.

Steed looked at his watch in dismay. "It's half past three already? I should have picked up Tara an hour ago." Steed raced to the door, and as he placed a hand on the knob, he added, "Are you doing anything this evening?" Mrs. Peel shook her head. "Yes you are; you're having dinner with me at the little French Cafe in town. The champagne is superb there!" Steed exited the room, whistling softly to himself.

Mrs. Peel didn't respond, but she flashed her winning smile. She performed several more karate moves, but she stopped short just as she was about to thrash the air with her arm. "I'd better find something suitable to wear." She hurried into the bedroom, ready to tackle the great  task of choosing the perfect outfit. She must look her best!

Meanwhile, Tara hadn't missed Steed at all, for she had been busily searching for the off limits room. Usually agents were led there with blindfolds on, so she wasn’t entirely sure which winding hallway it was down. Finally, she found the room, but naturally it was locked. Tara sighed as she retrieved a nail file from her purse to pick the lock. After a few futile attempts, Tara succeeded in breaking into the room.

As she entered the room, an overwhelming sight met her eyes. A hundred or more file cabinets aligned the wall and stood in the centre of the room. Tara eased the door shut and stood still, utterly astounded. She immediately perked up and walked over to the first cabinet. They were alphabetised, so she easily found the _P’s_. Tara's theory was that Smyth had left out some important information in the file cabinet, information about Mrs. Peel's husband.

Tara quickly searched through the files, wishing she had an electric torch so she could see better in the dark room. Finally she reached the spot for Mrs. Peel's folder, and she was surprised to find written on the front, "See other name."

Thinking they were referring to Emma's maiden name, Tara shut the cabinet and went to the _K_ files. Strangely, there was no folder under the name of Emma Knight. Instead, there was a gaping spot and a single note that read “File redacted. Need to know basis only.”

Tara glanced at the portfolio of Mrs. Peel in her hand. "If it said, 'see real name' in the spot where her folder was, there must be another place for Mrs. Peel's folder to go. Yet, this cabinet says her file was redacted. Why?"

Desperately, Tara began looking at every file in the _K_ cabinet. Soon she found her own name, followed by Dr. Martin King and Dr. David Keel. Tara noticed something strange with the portfolio on Mrs. Peel. First of all, it wasn't nearly as thick as all the other folders, and this  was most odd, especially for Dr. King. He had worked on only several cases, yet his portfolio was crammed with information about him. Curious to see what sort of information could fill a folder, Tara took it out of its place in the cabinet and examined it closely. 

Inside were all the minute details of his life, starting from his birth and ending when he stopped being a spy and had been placed in witness protection. The data was all typed out in neat print and in full sentences. Mrs. Peel's folder was hand written, the sentences were incomplete, and the information was very broad and general. Tara began pulling out each folder and carefully scrutinising them all. Every single one of them was in the same format as Dr. King. Mrs. Peel's portfolio was undoubtedly a fake—a diversion to keep people from sniffing around for the real one.

"That explains why Smyth was sent to fetch it and not me!" Tara exclaimed in revelation. "He was given a signal by Mother to get the phony folder for me, so I wouldn't go to the personnel files room and discover that the real file is classified. They must be hiding something about Mrs. Peel in her real folder, something about her husband, no doubt." Tara placed all the folders she had recklessly pulled out back in their proper order in the cabinet. "But what would they have to hide about her husband, and if the folder I have is fake, where is the real one? I looked under her name." Tara returned to the _P_ cabinet and looked at the space for Mrs. Peel's file, again. "What does 'See real name' mean?" Tara asked herself.

"It means 'mind your own business,'" a gruff voice returned.

Tara whirled around to discover Mother glaring at her, utterly enraged. "Oh, Mother, I didn't hear you," Tara mumbled dumbly.

"That's rather obvious. Now may I ask what you are doing here? You have Mrs. Peel's file already—"

"Mrs. Peel's portfolio is a fake!" Tara accused him. "Mother, what is going on? Why did Smyth give me a fake folder? Does it have to do with Mr. Peel, by any chance?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I'm a spy, and I live for truth and justice. Mrs. Peel may not be my favourite person on this planet, but she is entitled to know the truth. And I intend to give her just that, if I can. If her husband is dead, why not just tell her?"

"Her husband is not dead. He has been...indefinitely delayed."

"So you  _ did _ know that there was a criminal impersonating Mr. Peel, yet you didn't do anything  about it."

"Of course we didn’t know, dash it all! You think we would purposely put the lives of one of our former amateur agents in danger? We hired Richard Thoms to play her husband, but the blighter went and got himself killed!"

"Why on earth did you hire someone to impersonate Mrs. Peel’s husband? And how did you expect her not to figure it out?”

Mother didn't respond for a long duration, but finally he said, "Tara, you are under a lot of stress over this situation. We have this splendid machine that will help you forget all about this minor mishap. If you'll just come with me, you'll soon be your cheery self again."

Tara backed away from Mother, but he wheeled closer. A machine that made her forget? It sounded like it was a hypnosis device that brainwashed you! Is that what they had done to Mrs. Peel? Mrs. Peel had all the records of her husband conveniently destroyed in a fire. What if they had programmed her to forget everything, including where he was and what he looked like?

Tara clutched her purse with the trusty brick inside and advanced towards Mother. "I'll right, Mother, I'll come," she lied.

Unfortunately, Mother knew that there was a brick in her purse, a brick designed for conking unsuspecting people on the head. And Mother was not an unsuspecting person, by any means. "Hand me your purse, Tara," Mother commanded in an almost mesmerising tone.

Tara panicked for a brief second and then pushed Mother's wheelchair backwards. It quickly rolled across the floor and crashed into some file cabinets. Tara took this opportune moment to dash out the door. She flew through the corridors, not stopping until she was outdoors. Tara looked at the street and, noting that Steed was not there in his automobile, scurried down the pavement at a frightening speed. _ I can't wait for Steed to show up, not when Mother is after me, _ Tara thought as she fled from the agency headquarters.

A car drove past the fleeing Tara, Steed's Rolls Royce to be exact. He pulled up to the headquarters, quite surprised to see no sign of Tara. Steed thought nothing of it and merely entered the building in search of his sleuthing partner and friend.

Having no idea where Tara was, Mr. Steed headed for Mother's office. Mother would surely know where Tara was keeping herself. Steed playfully knocked on the door with his brolly before entering. It appeared to be a good thing, for Mother quickly scrambled to hide some papers from Steed's sight.

"Steed, what a surprise to see you!" Mother shouted in an almost nervous state. "Make yourself at home." He gestured to a leather easy chair and then quickly went back to his job of hiding papers. He carelessly stuffed them into the folder they had come from. Mother covered the folder's name with his hands and asked, "What can I do for you?"

Carefully surveying the obscured folder's name, Steed could only make out the beginning of the title. The part he could read said, "Knight, Em…" Steed instinctively concluded that it was Mrs. Peel's file, for after all, Tara had requested to see it. It was only natural for Mother to have it out still. But why would Mother want to hide the folder from him? And why was Emma’s file under her maiden name?

"Steed, did you hear me?" Mother inquired.

Steed ignored this question and asked, "Do you know where Tara is?"

"She left a good hour ago," Mother replied nonchalantly.

"But I promised to pick her up," Steed cried, not buying the answer for a second. However, he pretended not to see through Mother's shallow lie and added, "Oh, well, it goes to show you can't trust women; fickle as always." Steed gave his truest smile to the undaunted Mother.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Well, good day to you, Steed." Mother pretended to sort the papers in the folder.

Steed got up as if to go but stopped at the doorway. He had a hunch, and the best way to see if his hunch was correct was to bluff his way through. "By the way, I thought this might interest you: an actor was hired by a company to play Mrs. Peel's husband. Any idea which company that was? It was some place with access to lots of money, a place that is so clandestine, not even the best police inspectors could track it down." Steed turned solemn as he continued, “Sounds a bit like our ministry, does it not?”

For being cornered, Mother showed an enormous amount of levelheadedness. "Yes, Steed I did hire an actor, and I know he was murdered and replaced. However, I know the reason why I did it. Do you?"

"I was hoping you could fill in that little gap for me," Steed replied in an equally as composed voice. But unlike Mother, Steed was on the point of being rash. He glared angrily at Mother, his whole countenance changing from several minutes earlier.

Just then Smyth entered the room. "Mother, I lost track of Steed, and I'm sure he's got the information by now." He stopped short at the sight of the aforementioned man standing in the room as blase as if he had been discussing the weather.

"We were playing a game of cat and mouse, and I wasn't even told?" Steed asked. "How unfair; I was at a disadvantage."

"Grab him," Mother ordered severely.

As Smyth came thrashing at him, Steed ducked, sending Smyth to the floor. Smyth got up and punched Steed squarely in the right eye. Steed's bowler hat went sailing. Mother watched it fly across the room and then turned his attention to the brawl, serene as ever.

Unprepared for such an offense, the only thing Steed could do was hit Smyth with his umbrella.This he did with such force that his umbrella handle cracked and split apart. Smyth grabbed Steed's arms and they began swerving around the room, Steed trying to lose Smyth's grip and Smyth trying to keep it. Steed won and socked Smyth in the breadbasket. Smyth toppled over, completely winded.

Steed retrieved his bowler, placed it back on his head, gazed at his shattered umbrella, and quit the room. He walked slowly down the halls, lost in deep thought. Why had Mother hired an actor to impersonate Mr. Peel? Furthermore, why had he been so brutally attacked for finding out this information?

Wincing with pain, Steed headed toward Mrs. Peel's.

****

Steed rang the doorbell to Mrs. Peel's flat and waited impatiently for her to answer. When Mrs. Peel didn't open the door, Steed let himself in. "Mrs. Peel, you’re needed!" he whinged.

Mrs. Peel emerged from her bedroom, toting several dresses behind her. She gazed at Steed's black eye and remarked wryly, "Having a touch of  _ deja vu _ are we?" She was referring to the time Steed had been escorted to an elevator after trespassing and then had been punched in the face. She sighed in exasperation. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, nursing me back to health would be preferable." Steed slunk onto her sofa, moaning softly to himself.

"I'm surprised that a man who faces death daily can make such a fuss over a black eye." Mrs. Peel frowned slightly as she set her apparel over the back of a chair. "Now suppose you tell me what happened."

"I told Mother that I knew of his secret, and I was attacked."

"By Mother?" Mrs. Peel inquired in utter surprise.

"No, by Smyth." Steed tried to open his right eye and ended up cringing in discomfort. "I think he’s in on the secret as well." 

“What secret?”

“That the agency hired a fake Mr. Peel!” 

Emma was ever rarely struck speechless, but this was one of those times. She sunk into the leather chair that her apparel was draped over, her mouth agape. Finally, she managed to say, “Why would they do that?”

“Blast if I know. I was unceremoniously pummeled before I could find out.” Steed laid down on the settee and pushed his hat over his eyes as if he was going to sleep. Unfortunately, his bowler agitated his eye, causing him to yelp in pain. He quickly removed his hat from his head and placed it lovingly on the floor next to him. He propped himself up on his elbow and feigned a groan.

"I gather we won't be going to that marvelous French restaurant that I've heard so much about." Emma poured a glass of brandy for Steed and handed it to him. After a quick checking noise from Steed, she made sure to avoid stepping on his hat.

"Of course we can't, not when I have this terrible black eye." Steed noted Mrs. Peel's disappointed expression and added cheerily, "That doesn't mean we can't have a cozy dinner here." He looked up at her in a beguiling manner, causing Mrs. Peel to raise her eyebrows in suspicion. She entered her kitchen and retrieved a steak from her icebox.

“Ah, a juicy steak for dinner. Good thinking." Steed, now fully sitting up, sipped his brandy contentedly.

"The steak is for your eye." Mrs. Peel almost thrust the piece of frozen meat at Steed. Since he had cancelled their dinner plans, she was not in the mood for his flirtations.

Steed confusedly stared at the frozen steak in his hand. He smacked the hunk of meat against a coffee table several times and made strange faces as the thoroughly frozen steak clunked noisily in return. He handed the meat back to Emma. "If you don't mind, I think I'll pass on the first course."

Emma returned the steak to its proper place in the freezer. As she was wiping her hands she called, "Oh by the way, Tara phoned me and told me to give you this message: 'Mother wanted to brainwash me, so I took a cab home. I'm all right now. I'll call you at your flat later tonight.’"

Steed started in alarm and said angrily, “First Mother wants Smyth to wallop me, then he wants to brainwash Tara. Either Mother is growing senile, or something is seriously wrong."

"I highly doubt it's the first reason, and I'm almost certain it's the latter." Mrs. Peel sat down in the leather chair again. She sexily crossed her legs and began meditating deeply. After a few moments, she suggested, "Let's get all the facts straight, shall we?"

Seeing the alluring Emma Peel refuse all of his flirtations was enough to encourage Steed to continue his gallant behavior. He loved toying with woman's heartstrings, and he had enormous satisfaction when he succeeded in flirting with Mrs. Peel. He got up from his position on the sofa and moved over towards Mrs. Peel until he was standing directly above her. "All right. Fact: your eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown." He grinned flirtatiously, watching Mrs. Peel's countenance turn from surprise, to pleasure, and then to a look of concentration. She was obviously trying to come up with a witty reply.

"Fact: you have more ways to change a subject than any other person I know." Emma looked up at Steed, and her hair cascaded across her face. She quickly brushed it aside and realised with some amusement that Steed was leaning in towards her.

"Fact: your hair has a luscious way of falling across your face when you get riled up."

"Fact: you are a somewhat annoying, but utterly charming cad."

Steed stood upright in surprise, his proper gentlemanly side indignant at being referred to by such a name. The feeling quickly passed and he managed to say, "A cad, Mrs. Peel?" His companion nodded sagely, suppressing a smile. "Well, I can't think of a proper response to that!"

"Don't trouble yourself over it."

"You can depend on me; I won't." They both exchanged mutual smiles that only they could understand.

"To be perfectly serious," Emma began, "we only know several important facts. First of all, Mother hired Richard Thoms to play my husband. Then Thoms was killed by Edmund Baccarat and replaced by William Avery. Furthermore, they both want to kidnap me for some unknown reason. Other than that, we are completely clueless."

"Not quite. We also know that for whatever reason, we weren't supposed to know that your husband was an impostor. As you recall, Mother was very upset when he realised Tara and I were on to him."

“But how did the ministry really expect me not to realise he wasn’t my husband?” Emma scoffed.

Steed furrowed his brows. “That’s the most troubling conundrum. The ministry was banking on too many variables for this to be a fool-proof scheme. Why  _ didn’t _ you suspect anything?”

“I did several times, but I always brushed it aside as an overactive imagination. I even toyed with the idea of separation, but Peter, rather William, never stayed around long enough for us to have that conversation.”

“Interesting. So the ministry’s plan for you to divorce your ‘husband’ would have come true if Richard Thoms had played the role.”

Emma bit her lip. “I suppose so.” She sighed. “Now all we have to do is find out where my real husband is, stop Baccarat and Avery from kidnapping me and find out why the ministry is going to such extraordinary lengths to upset my married life."

Steed glanced at his watch. “Is that really the time? I'll just be moving along, if you don't mind. Tara will be calling soon, and I'd like to be at my flat when she does. I need to understand what she meant by ‘brainwashing.’" An idea was forming in his head, but he had to be certain of the facts before jumping to conclusions.

He strolled to the door with Mrs. Peel trailing behind politely. He opened the door but seemed reluctant to leave. "Goodbye, and remember, we still have that dinner engagement."

"I'll remember."

"Sleep well, Mrs. Peel," he said with such tenderness that Emma felt her face flush crimson.

Then something occurred that Mrs. Peel didn't remember happening except once or twice since she had been married and presumably widowed. She had the strangest impulse to kiss Steed. Trying to rid herself of the idea, Mrs. Peel replied rather tartly, "Good night." Then much to Steed's surprise, she nearly pushed him out the door.

Steed stared at the door, trying to piece the puzzle together. Mrs. Peel's abrupt behavior was very uncharacteristic of her. He shrugged, thinking to himself that she was most likely exhausted from the day's strenuous activities. He went on his merry way, not realising the tumultuous thoughts that were raging through Emma’s normally logical mind.

These thoughts were still with her when “Peter Peel” returned home later that night. Mrs. Peel knew him now to be William Avery, and she could only guess that he wanted to cause her harm. Ready to attack if need be, Emma met the intruder.

Avery seemed surprised to see Mrs. Peel standing determinedly in the middle of the living room.

However, he assumed an affected air and asked, "Hello, darling, how was your day?"  He advanced towards her, but Mrs. Peel did not move.

"Where's my husband?" Mrs. Peel demanded severely.

"What are you talking about?" William answered uneasily. "I'm your husband, Peter Peel.”

"You're William Avery, robber, rioter, and now impersonator." Emma crossed her arms over  her chest in an attempt to alarm her adversary. It only made Avery aware for the first time of Mrs. Peel's attractive figure.

He surveyed her body attired in a navy, two piece outfit. The pants were tight and so was the top, which revealed her whole stomach. He inched even closer to her, saying. "I'm sorry you found out, because now I'm gonna have a terrible time trying to convince you to go with me."

"Go with you where, Mr. Avery?"

"To the old abandoned furniture warehouse down on Brighton Lane. You see, I've come to kidnap you." 

“Why do villains always announce their whole plots?” Emma asked no one in particular. “You’d think they’d learn to be more discreet.”

Ignoring her, Avery took a step even closer. "Now that you know my true identity, I may have to use physical force." He was now so close to her, she could feel his breath.

Emma's hair stood on end as she felt Avery breathe directly on her. They both stared at each other, tensely waiting for the other one to make the first move. And then suddenly, Avery grabbed her neck and began choking her.

Mrs. Peel tried to lose his strong grip, but it seemed futile. She held on to his wrists extremely tightly, hoping the strong pressure of her nails in his flesh would be too much for him. Unfortunately, he was one of the strongest men she'd ever encountered. Mrs. Peel was going to lose consciousness in a matter of seconds if she didn't think of anything. In a last attempt to loosen his grip, Emma pulled her knee up into his stomach. He made a horrible gasping noise and then let go.

Emma took this opportune moment to gain her breath. Then she kicked him, hit him, and did a magnificent karate move that made him flip over on his back. Emma waited for her opponent to attack again, but he seemed rather winded. Mrs. Peel used this time to brush her hair out of her face, since it had so inconveniently fell into her eyes again. 

She placed her foot on his chest, making sure he couldn't escape. "All right," she began breathlessly, "where is my husband?"

"I don't know," William replied in a pathetic whimper. Emma applied more pressure on his chest. "It’s the truth! Ed and me never knew why Thoms had been hired to play your husband. We just knew it was a golden opportunity."

"Why was it a ‘golden opportunity’? What are you playing at?" Mrs. Peel asked, taking some of her weight off her adversary.

"I’m not telling you." Avery grinned wickedly. Emma stepped hard on him again, causing him to cry out in pain. "What more do you want from me?" he whinged.

"Why kidnap me now? Why not when I was working for the ministry?"

"Haven’t you figured that out yet, lady?" Avery tried to remove her foot but met with little success. "We had to wait until the ministry didn’t want you no more." He simpered wildly, adding, "Otherwise you would have been rescued by that bloke Steed who you've been philandering with."

"That is a very dirty thing to say," Emma exclaimed vehemently as her face turned a violent shade of red. “I’ve been faithful to my husband.”  _ Stop blushing, Emma _ ! she thought to herself.  _ You have nothing to be ashamed about. Since your husband went missing, Steed and you have always maintained a platonic relationship...More or less. _

Since Mrs. Peel was lost in thought, Avery was able to pull her feet out from under her. Now they were both on the floor, a terrible disadvantage. Avery grabbed the nearest item he could find, a flower vase that had been sitting on her coffee table. He took hold of Mrs. Peel's legs, so she couldn't get away, and raised the vase over her head menacingly.

Emma Peel wriggled and squirmed to what seemed no avail. Avery brought the vase crashing down, but at the last moment, Emma freed herself and rolled out of harm's way. Rising to her feet, she posed in a karate maneuver and waited for Avery to fight her again.

Avery got to his feet but grabbed the hand set of a telephone from a counter nearby. He began chasing Mrs. Peel around the room with it. Mrs. Peel jumped onto her settee just as Avery was about to hit her. Avery tried to reach her, but he had run out of telephone cord.

"At the end of your tether, are you, Mr. Avery?" A smirk set on her face, Mrs. Peel placed her hands on her hips imperiously.

Avery gazed frantically around him, and before Emma could stop him, dashed out the door. Mrs. Peel ran to the front door but was too late. Avery had once more managed to escape.


	4. Second Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steed Gets a Fiancee.  
> Emma Takes a Picture.

The next morning Steed was fixing himself a pot of tea and thinking about Tara's visit from the previous night. She had told him all about the fake  _ Mrs. Peel  _ file and Mother's failed attempt to brainwash her. What was most intriguing was Mother’s word choice to Tara, accusing her of having an “overactive imagination.” He knew he had heard those words before recently…

Steed was interrupted from his musings by the doorbell. He hurried to his front door, hoping it was Mrs. Peel. However, a different female met his eyes. "Mrs. Gale, what a pleasant surprise." Steed jovially beckoned her to come inside the apartment. "You'll have to excuse my appearance. I wasn't expecting guests."

Mrs. Gale surveyed his attire, which included casual pants and a white shirt under a forest green sweater with a large V neck. "I'll pretend not to notice," she assured him in her cool and sophisticated manner.

"Can I interest you in a cup of tea?" Steed offered politely. Cathy accepted the invitation and was soon sipping tea noiselessly. "Well, what bit of business brings you to my humble abode?" he asked.

"I've come to discuss an incredibly important issue with you."

Steed chuckled, wondering what Mrs. Gale was going to say. He stopped laughing when he observed the seriousness in her demeanor and voice. True, Mrs. Gale had always been the no nonsense type, but this time the gravity in her tone couldn't be ignored.

Cathy looked like a parent who was about to admit to a child there is no Father Christmas. “You remember the time your friend was brainwashed to believe that you were a murderer?"

"How could I possibly forget? They tried to brainwash me, too, and almost succeeded.” Steed shuddered as he continued, "Those were some clever villains."

"Not only villains are using hypnosis techniques these days." Cathy set her teacup down with a loud clatter. "People on the right side of the law are involved in this ghastly procedure as well."

"Oh, do you mean people like Mother?"

"So you know already?" Cathy looked extremely relieved.

Steed eyed her suspiciously before replying, "I know Mother tried to brainwash Tara yesterday  when she found some valuable information."

"What information did she discover?" Mrs. Gale asked eagerly. Steed relayed all the events from yesterday, starting with Mrs. Peel finding the strange revolver in her flat and ending with Tara fleeing from an infuriated Mother. When he finished, Cathy remarked, "I can understand why Mother tried to brainwash Tara. She was getting too close to discovering the truth."

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Gale?"

"Several years ago the ministry brainwashed a number of its top agents, and one of those people was you, Steed."

"Did they program me to be a dependable and topnotch agent?"

"No, you already were when they brainwashed you. It was your acumen as a spy that led to your reprogramming. Several other agents, such as Smyth and Shuston, were also put under this program."

Mr. Steed stared blankly at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You almost had me fooled! What an excellent joke!"

"I'm telling you the truth!! Do you think I would waste my time telling you stupid lies?"

This comment sobered Steed up in an instant. "You're absolutely right, but why did they need to reprogram me?"

"Because the ministry wanted machines more than men running their operations. They viewed your relationship with a certain young woman as a risk. So they rearranged your memories so that you viewed this woman as just another notch in a long line of conquests and not as anything more. They trained you to view all relationships as fleeting and inconsequential and took away the love you had for your affianced. Then they supplied some false memories to your fiancée, and she went away, none the wiser."

"You have an overactive imagination. I am John Steed, topnotch agent, noble gentleman, and well known bachelor. I would never devote myself to one woman unless it was absolutely necessary. I'm loved too much by too many ladies to ever have a fiancée."

"Don't wave your wonderful attributes at me." Cathy spoke churlishly. Seeing that Steed was bent on rejecting her story, she raised her hands to the ceiling in defeat. "Fine, don't believe me, but don't say I didn't warn you. When you fall in love—"

"When I fall in love I will be in my seventies, and it will be because I can't think of anything better to do."

Cathy gave him a weathering look and stood up as if to leave. Changing her mind, she began talking again much to the displeasure of Steed. "Remember when Mrs. Parker was speaking to you at the party? She began to say something, but I interrupted her. Mrs. Parker was in the middle of saying, 'Of course, you can't marry anybody! We all know that you are engaged to be married.'"

Steed seemed ready to accept Mrs. Gale's story, but at the last moment he shook his head in incredulity. "And why is it that Mrs. Parker and you know about this mysterious fiancée but not Tara?”

“Because at the time we were brought into the ministry there was a chance that you might fight the brainwashing and return to her. So we were trained to prevent that. Later, she was married off, so it didn’t matter.”

“So that’s the reason you never accepted my advances,” Steed teased. “Because I was already taken!”

“No, it’s because I found you a chauvinist pig,” Cathy shot back.

“But was that really me, or my programming?” Steed wagged a playful finger at her.

"All right, Doubting Thomas, have it your way. I'm not going to listen to your denial a minute longer." She angrily flounced to the door.

"Are you on your way to some other hapless bachelor's flat, ready to tell him that he's engaged to a nonexistent woman?"

"No, I was going to buy a new pair of tyres for my motorbike." With that last remark, cat-suit clad Cathy stormed out of the vicinity.

Steed laughed to himself once more at the preposterous idea. However, his laughter was checked at the recollection of him bending down on one knee and procuring the most unbelievable diamond ring he’d ever seen. Steed beheld his betrothed standing above him, a vision of loveliness in her lace and satin. He tried to visualise her face, but all he could see was a shadowy countenance, obscured as if by a veil. He could hear her voice, though, and it reminded him of silvery bells and ocean waves all rolled into one. 

Steed snapped out of his reverie and looked about him. Mrs. Gale's nonsensical talk was playing on his mind. "Now I'm 'remembering' an event that never happened," Steed said to himself. "What an overactive imagination! I'll wager Mrs. Peel will get a few chuckles out of this news."

After dressing in more respectable attire, namely a suit, Steed headed towards Mrs. Peel's flat. As he drove, bits and pieces of what seemed to be another life flashed before his eyes. He saw himself playing at the beach, having weekend picnics, traveling to France and Italy, all with an unknown woman. It wasn't like Steed to forget a pretty face, but he was positive that these events really took place. Could what Mrs. Gale have said actually be true? And if it was true, did he really want to remember it?

****

Steed barged into Mrs. Peel's flat without a single rap on the door or a ring of the doorbell. "Mrs. Peel, I'm engaged to be married."

Emma peaked out from behind the still life of champagne which she was working on again.

"Congratulations; who's the lucky girl?" She believed this was merely another one of Steed's jokes.

"I don't know who my fiancée is. If you want to know so badly you might ask Mrs. Gale. She's the one who came over to my flat this morning, claiming I had been brainwashed to forget I was engaged. Isn't that the most absurd news you ever heard?"

"It is, but I'm afraid if it came from the serious Mrs. Gale it must be true," replied Emma Peel half in earnest and half in jest.

"Don't tease me, not when I'm in this terrible predicament. I'm beginning to believe it was really true, and that makes the whole matter worse. I don't want to be married to any woman unless she is my absolute ideal girl."

"And with your high standards she probably does not exist."

"That's why I gave my dream woman such impossible requirements, so I'd never fall in love with anybody."

Mrs. Peel smirked, but fortunately her face was hidden behind the canvass. "Being married can be a truly enjoyable experience," she proclaimed diplomatically. Under her breath she added, "If your spouse is ever at home, anyway."

If Steed heard her, he made no response. Instead he picked up the bottle of champagne Mrs. Peel was painting and began inspecting it. After Mrs. Peel produced several admonishing sounds, he set the bottle back in its proper place.

"Speaking of spouses, mine paid me a visit last night."

"The real Mr. Peel!?" Steed demanded more severely than was necessary. He was rather disconcerted at the thought of Mr. Peel popping up from the Amazon.

"William Avery came home last night, and I confronted him." Mrs. Peel dabbed and dashed at her painting, enjoying Steed's noises of dismay at her comment. "He managed to escape, but not before I pried some valuable information out of him. He told me that the ministry no longer wanted me, and that’s why they hired Thoms to pose as Mr. Peel." 

Steed shook his head in disbelief. “But I needed you! What was the ministry thinking? Did they just ask every man attired in a bowler and suit to come over for auditions? 'Here ye here ye, a proclamation from Her Majesty’s ministry has been decreed. If any one of you is Mr. Peter Peel, please step forward and claim your bride.' Every single man must have been swearing he was your long lost husband." Steed let his offhanded compliment sink into Mrs. Peel's brain.

The flattery had no effect on Mrs. Peel, who was clearly unamused. "You're absolutely no help at all." She gave her painting one last vicious stroke. "There, it's finished. Will you have a look at it, Steed?"

He admired it for several seconds before declaring, "It's one of the best works of art I've ever seen. It captures the true essence of champagne in a bottle. However, you should have painted some champagne flute next to the bottle. It would have added even more depth to the painting."

"I'll devote my next portrait entirely on that subject."

Steed patted her arm, utterly pleased.

"And while we're still on the subject of husbands," Mrs. Peel began, "I don't believe my husband ever had a mustache. I think that Avery just added the mustache because he was modeling himself after Thoms."

Steed arched an eyebrow. “You ‘believe’? Can’t you remember.”

"As much as it shames me to admit it, the memories of my husband are jumbled. I've been thinking of getting this picture enlarged." She gingerly handled the locket with the last remaining picture of her husband. "I know it only shows his mouth and nose, but if I'm going to be trying to jog by memory, I've got to at least have some idea of his face."

"Where do you plan to go for this process?"

"There's a photography store not so far from here that specialises in enlarging pictures."

"Splendid, I'll go with you."

Emma and Steed climbed into her Lotus and sped off. Steed jolted back as the fast car raced down the street at a frightening pace. He gripped his hat with one hand and the edge of the seat with his other.

Soon they arrived at a shop bearing the sign, Finney's Film and Photography Ltd. Steed escorted Mrs. Peel inside, and they were met with a strange sight. Humongous pictures of human appendages aligned the dimly lit room. The pictures were on a thick poster board that obviously had been designed to keep the five feet high photos from falling over from its own weight.

One picture showed just an elbow, clad in a wool sweater; while another photo showed a pair of  shapely female legs wearing sharp stilettos. "I'd like to meet the owner of these," Steed said idly as he eyed that picture.

A man with bottle cap glasses and frizzy hair entered the room. "May I help you?" he asked in a nasal voice.

"For starters, would you mind telling me who belongs to those legs?" Steed asked in a most wolfish manner.

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Finney stared at him in confusion.

"I would like this picture enlarged, Mr. Finney," Emma replied before Steed could make some unsavory response.

"What part of it?"

"Well, all of it, naturally." Now Mrs. Peel looked befuddled, but she quickly regained composure.

"I'm sorry to confuse you, but my specialty is in enlarging only certain sections of the picture." Mr. Finney smiled as if this was a most important art form. "You see, most of this work was used for advertisements. This," he gestured at the legs, "Was used in a magazine ad that was selling a pair of high heels."

"It must have been a successful campaign," Steed remarked.

"I wouldn't think there would be much need for elbows, though." Mrs. Peel nodded at the other strange picture.

"That," Mr. Finney began sadly, "was originally going to be used for a watch ad."

"There's no watch in this picture!" Steed exclaimed.

"Of course there isn't! I accidentally cut out the rest of the arm when I was first enlarging it. Hence why it was never used." Mr. Finney sighed in dismay, and then asked politely, "What picture do you want me to enlarge?"

After seeing what sort of photos Mr. Finney was interested in, Mrs. Peel was dubious as to whether she should give him her picture or not. After all, he might destroy it, and then she would have no pictures left of her husband. After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Peel reluctantly handed over her locket.

Mr, Finney examined it and replied, "This is a very easy piece to enlarge; there are no sharp angles. Who is this man, Miss-"

"Mrs. Peel," Emma finished for him, "and the man in the picture is my husband."

"Ah, I can see the resemblance." Mr. Finney eyed Steed as he spoke, indicating that he thought he was Mr. Peel.

Steed stared at him in puzzlement before he got the meaning of Finney's gaze. "Oh, no I'm not her husband.” Finney raised his eyebrows in suspicion before he set off to his laboratory.

Mrs. Peel wandered around the room, surveying the odd assortment of photographs. "One thing I can say for Mr. Finney is he knows how to make large pictures." She gestured at a massive picture of a toothy grin. "Do you suppose it was used to advertise for a dentist office or for a brand of toothpaste?"

Steed stood next to her and likewise analysed the picture. "Definitely toothpaste, Mrs. Peel." 

Steed and Emma exchanged warm glances, and began inspecting all the other pictures on display. This kept them occupied while they waited for Mr. Finney to return with the larger picture.

Finally Finney returned, holding a portrait about 8 X 11 in width and length. Mrs. Peel and Steed stared at the picture in incredulity, wondering why on earth Mr. Finney deemed it necessary to make photos of teeth four feet high, yet failed to make Mrs. Peel's picture any larger than a sheaf of paper. True, it was bigger than the original picture, but it still wasn't large enough to detect anything important.

Steed made several reproachful noises and cried, "Really, Mr. Finney, you utterly disappoint me!  When you promised to enlarge this photograph I pictured it being five feet high and at least four feet across. We want this picture to be so huge that you can recognise this man when you're twenty feet away. We want to be able to feel like he was in the room with us, ready to grab our hands and console us in times of need.

"This picture could hardly satisfy anyone, let alone a demanding man like myself. Take it away and enlarge it to the size of this photo." Steed pointed at the picture of the toothy grin.

Emma had remained silent during Steed's entire tirade, letting him ham it up in his usually charming fashion, but she absolutely refused to stand by while he ordered Finney to enlarge her photo to an impractical size. "Mr. Finney, could you please make this photo two and 3/4 feet in height and four feet in width? And could you put it on this cardboard material? I don't want my picture so large and flimsy that it falls over."

Mr. Finney, thoroughly confused with Steed's diatribe, nodded his head. He finally was beginning to make sense of the odd pair. He scurried off, muttering "That man is the maddest person I've ever encountered." Eventually he returned with the perfect picture, and after Mrs. Peel paid him generously (too generously by Steed's critique), the Avengers were on their way home.

Emma drove up to her apartment complex and inquired of her friend, "How's Mr. Peel fairing?" After racing through town at a speed that wasn't at all befitting for his old school ways, Steed regained his composure enough to gaze at the backseat where the picture was resting. "Mr. Peel appears to be doing very well."

Emma smiled and stepped out of her car. Steed followed her example, and they began lifting the photograph out of the Lotus. Suddenly, Emma commanded, "Look over there."

Steed beheld a man leaving another apartment complex across the street. The man was wearing a black pinstripe suit and a black bowler hat. Swinging slowly as he walked, an umbrella hung from his left arm.

Steed and Peel compared their picture to the man strolling complacently down the sidewalk. "Is there any resemblance?" Steed asked curiously.

"No, his nose is too big." Emma replied, referring to the stranger, "and his hair is lighter as well."

Steed stared at her strangely, for it was quite a ridiculous remark. Besides being a black and white photo, Mr. Peel's hair was mostly covered by his hat. It was impossible to see how dark his hair was.

Letting this strange comment pass, Steed helped Emma carry the photo into her flat. They propped it against a wall and began scrutinising it. They each called out every man who resembled Mr. Peel, even if he only wore the same apparel as Mrs. Peel's husband. They named friends, claiming they had amnesia and didn't know their real name was Peter Peel. Steed and Peel even named people they had passed once on the street. In short, they didn't recognise the man in the photo at all and were merely making a blind stab at what Mr. Peel really looked like.

After fifteen minutes of that nonsense, Mrs. Peel gave up all hope. "It’s useless to suggest that any of the men we named are my husband. Some of them we've only seen once, so how can we possibly say they resemble my Peter?" Emma pointed at the picture and continued, "Anyone can resemble another person when you just get a glimpse of them. I can't tell you the countless times I've mistaken another man for _you_. It's even worse in this case, for we have only this silly picture to go by. Anyone can have a nose and smile like that. Well, maybe not that smile."

"If that's the way you feel, I don't think I can be of any more service at the moment. I'll see you later, maybe even for dinner." Steed lifted his hat to place it on his head. In doing so, the bowler passed over his chin, mouth, and nose. When it was over Steed's eyes, Emma's heart did a rather uncharacteristic thing: it skipped a beat. Steed looked exactly like her husband!

"Steed, pass your hat over your eyes again," Mrs. Peel ordered slowly.

Not understanding the reason for her odd request, Steed stared at her in confusion. However, he removed his hat and began circling around as if he were a model. His procedure reminded Mrs. Peel of an unsavory person, Gordon Webster. "Is this the proper setting for such an operation?" Steed joked. “Maybe I need a spotlight.”

Emma grabbed him by the arms and  manoeuvred him in front of the picture. She took Steed's hat and began lifting it in front of his eyes, first looking at his face and then gazing at the picture.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I can't see straight with that object flying across my face every moment." Steed snatched his hat away from the musing Emma Peel and examined her face. "Are you feeling all right, my dear?"

Mrs. Peel snapped out of her musings and replied in a strange whisper, "I'm wonderful." She must have realised how peculiar she sounded, for she repeated her response in a normal voice. She smiled and straightened his suit coat. "Now, don't worry about a thing. You just run along on your merry way, visit Tara if you like."

"If you keep saying such odd things I think I'll stay." Steed eyed her suspiciously and added, "You don't think  _ I'm _ that man in the photo? I can tell you right now, you're mistaken. That's  _ your husband _ , Peter Peel the pilot.”

"Steed, how you do carry on sometimes." Emma ushered him to the door, Steed protesting all the while. "Goodbye; see you tonight." She shut the door, deep in thought.

This picture was a dead ringer for Steed. That could either mean that her husband resembled Steed to the point where they were doppelgangers, or the picture was really of Steed. If the photograph was of Steed, then when was it taken? It couldn't have been in Italy as she had thought before. It must have been around the time when she first met Steed, for he looked considerably younger than he was now.

Mrs. Peel tried to recall when she had met Steed, but her memory was hazy. She knew it was when she was still single, working as the chairman of the board at her father’s company, but many of the conversations or adventures she had with Steed before she married Peel were a blur. In fact, as she tried to recollect other events in her past, she found it quite difficult. Certain things were easy to remember, like past episodes with criminals and all the education she had learned in school. But when she tried to recall social affairs in her life from 1959 to 1965, she found herself grappling for the information. She could only remember bits and pieces of her life, some hilarious incidents with Steed or a romantic moment with her husband. Emma thought of her husband's countenance, and again was confused. She couldn't see his face or hear his voice at all.

_ It's almost as if I have amnesia _ , Mrs. Peel thought. Suddenly another notion formed in her head, a notion that made Mrs. Peel shudder. "Maybe I've been brainwashed, too," Emma began thoughtfully, "but why?" Her pulse began to thunder in her head, and she felt short of breath. Emma didn't want to think of the answer, not at the moment anyway. She was exhausted and disconcerted, two feelings she didn't often experience.

Not paying attention, Mrs. Peel picked up her locket and toyed with it. She cast it onto her counter and turned the large photo of her husband—or was it Steed?—around, so it was facing the wall. She would relax and ignore the silly notion that she had been brainwashed. She was simply suffering from an overactive imagination.

Emma picked up her newspaper in order to distract herself. The front page headline read:  _ Fatal Car Crash Leaves Survivor Amnesiac _ . She quickly flipped to the next page and was confronted with the article,  _ World Famous Steeds to Compete in Race Next Week _ . Emma growled in annoyance as she tossed the newspaper across the room. So far her plan wasn't working.


	5. Second Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gets tipsy.  
> Steed passes out.  
> Tara's world collapses.

Meanwhile, Tara had gone to Steed's flat and found once more that he was not at home. Steed hadn't left a note as to where he was, and though Tara guessed he was visiting Mrs. Peel, she remained at his flat in case her assumption was wrong. Making herself at home, Tara went to Steed's personal bar and took out a new bottle of champagne. She popped the cork but did it with such force that it flew across the room and landed in Mrs. Gale’s abandoned cup of tea from the morning. 

She bent to grab the cork and realised there was a small jewelry box with a note attached to it in a handwriting she didn’t recognise. It read, “Steed, I was able to recover this item from your personal files. Hope it illuminates you -Cathy.”

She knew it wasn't for her, but what sort of agent would she be if she turned down a lead that was dropped in her lap? As she opened the box, a glistening diamond ring met her eyes. Well, it wasn't really glistening, for several years of neglect had tarnished the band. She put it up to the light and could barely make out an inscription, which read _All My Love,_ _J. S._

"Steed, you were married?" Tara asked in alarm. She pocketed the strange bobble and immediately left, her champagne still sitting on the table, untouched.

Tara selfishly prayed that if Steed had ever been married, his wife was now dead or divorced from him. She sped to Mrs. Peel's apartment complex, wondering if Steed was there. Soon she barged into Mrs. Peel's flat in such a way that Emma was sure it was Avery returning to kidnap her.

Mrs. Peel was more than relieved when she saw Tara standing in the doorway, but she was also puzzled as to why the agent was visiting her. "Miss King, what are you doing here?"

"I must see Steed, and I thought he might be here." Tara scanned the flat and was disappointed to note he was nowhere in sight.

"You just missed him, but if you like, you can stay for lunch."

"No, that's all right. I must see him immediately." Tara clutched the ring and dashed to the door, but Emma checked her.

"Please, at least stay for a cup of tea, and I can tell you all that Steed and I have discovered today concerning the mystery."

Tara reluctantly complied with Mrs. Peel's request and sat stiffly on the sofa. She gazed at the large photo that was leaning face forward into the wall and asked, "What is that?"

Emma explained everything about the photo to Tara, except she omitted her suspicions that the subject of the picture might be Steed. She didn't want to inadvertently spread a falsehood just because she had a silly notion. After Emma finished her explanation, an uncomfortable silence ensued. Emma leaned on the counter and idly swung her locket by its silver chain. 

The sterling silver trinket caught Tara's attention, and she asked curiously, "That's the locket with the picture of your husband, isn't it?" When Emma nodded in response, Tara got up from her perch on the settee and walked over to her. She examined it closely, entranced by its beauty. "May I hold it, please?"

Emma, being the genial host that she was, handed over her prized possession to the eager Tara. Tara clasped it firmly in her hands, barely acknowledging Mrs. Peel's conversation. "It was a wedding present from Peter's mother. She was quite ecstatic about her son getting married, because he had been a bit of a rover in his early life, a bachelor like...Steed." Tara and she each began thinking of the handsome man in the bowler hat and dashing suit.

Emma snapped out of her reverie and continued, "The locket was almost destroyed in the fire that destroyed all of my pictures." Mrs. Peel flipped the locket over and pointed to the melted back. "It had my initials engraved into them; E for Emma, K for Knight, and P for Peel. But now it’s rather indistinct.”

Tara didn't want to admit it, but she could barely make out the initials. In fact, the  _ E _ looked like an  _ F _ , and the  _ P _ looked more like an  _ R  _ or  _ S _ to her. She merely said, "How lovely.”

Emma mused for a moment and added, "It's funny, but the fire inspector wanted me to throw it away. He said it was too damaged. I had to retrieve it from the rubbish bin. That wasn't his call to make, was it?" She smiled sadly and went to get some tea.

Tara stayed for a cuppa and then headed back towards Steed's flat. Halfway there a worrying thought hit her. What would Steed's reaction be when he saw the engagement ring? Wouldn't it be better to be absolutely sure that the ring belonged to him before telling him her suspicions?

Tara turned her own Lotus in the direction of ministry headquarters. Mother would have all the information that she needed, and if Tara knew Mother, it would be hidden in that off limits room.

Tara didn't think about the fact that she hadn't been able to find Emma's real file, so why would she be able to find Steed's? She also didn't think about the probability that Mother was keeping a good eye on that verboten room ever since Tara's break-in. All she knew was she wanted to find out if Steed was married, where Mr. Peel was, and what on earth did Mother have to do with all of it.

****

If Mrs. Gale was happy to see Steed on her doorstep, she made no comment. She merely ushered him inside and fixed him a brandy and soda. “I take it you found the gift I left you.”

“Eh?” Steed stared at her in confusion. “No, I’m afraid not. I was with Mrs. Peel, and the confoundest thing happened. She couldn’t remember anything about her husband and started insisting that the one picture she has of him is actually of me!” He gratefully accepted the proffered brandy snifter and took a sip.

Cathy was quiet for a moment, weighing her response. "Do you remember when you met Emma for the first time?”

“I didn’t take you for the nostalgic type.”

“Just answer the question.”

Steed’s entire mien relaxed as the brandy did its job. “Well, let’s see. I first met Mrs. Peel before she was married when she was Emma Knight. She was a fresh-faced corporate magnate, took over her father’s company at 21, and had revolutionised the industry in just a few short years. We met whilst I was working a case with Dr. Keel. We hit it off, and became…erm,  _ good _ friends. Nigh inseparable, you might say.” 

Cathy nodded, as pleased with his answer as a teacher would be with a student reciting sums. “Right. That’s what I’ve been told, too. Do you remember what happened after that?”

Steed felt his heart rate accelerate unnaturally, and it was as if a cloud had settled over his vision. “What do you think happened? She married that Peel chap. Funny, she never mentioned him while we were…not that we had ever said we were exclusive, mind you, but it would have been nice to have a bit of warning.”

Mrs. Gale nodded. “That doesn’t seem like something Emma would do, does it?”

His answer was calculated. “I suppose not, but do women ever behave rationally when they are in love?” 

Mrs. Gale gave him a guarded look. “Depends on the woman. When did you see her again?”

“I met her again in 1964. I was between partners. You had slipped off on a holiday and conveniently forgot to mention you weren’t coming back.”

Cathy grinned. “How careless of me.”

“But you  _ had  _ mentioned you would be in town for a wine tasting at the British Museum, so we planned to meet up again. You didn’t make it—”

“But Emma did,” Mrs. Gale prompted.

“There she was, as gorgeous as a Greek goddess from the Parthenon. It was fortunate she was standing near the Rosetta Stone, so she could translate my babbling. She said she had sold her shares in her father’s company, lost her husband in the Amazon, and was looking for something fun to do. So I offered to let her help me work on some cases.”

“Let me guess: the ministry was  _ very _ resistant.”

“Yes, they were, which was odd, since they’d always been very open to you, Venus Smith, and the good doctors.” Steed felt his heart rate going up again. 

“Steed, I planned that meeting for you and Emma. I knew she would be there. We were both on the museum board for a while, she for her philanthropic contributions to the collection, and I for my intellectual contributions.”

“I didn’t take you as a matchmaker.”

“I was trying to right a wrong. You two should have never been separated.”

Steed’s head was pounding now, his breathing laboured.

“Steed, are you all right?” The concern was noticeable in Mrs. Gale’s gorgeous face. “Maybe we ought to stop. It’s clear the brainwashing is affecting you physiologically as well as mentally.”

“You have...an overactive...imagination,” he panted.

Cathy surveyed him shrewdly. “You used that exact phrase earlier. It must be one of the self-hypnotic phrases you’ve been taught to dismiss any conflicting information between reality and the programmed version.”

Steed gritted his teeth and managed to spit out, “Mrs. Peel was using the same phrase earlier.” The empty brandy glass fell from his hand. “Cathy, help me!”

****

Glancing each way before she moved, Tara deftly crept through the halls at the agency. Soon she arrived at the room with the myriad of personnel files, and barely breathing, she picked the lock once more. Tara tiptoed stealthily to the S files and gingerly opened the first drawer. Being that there were so many S names, the ST names were not catalogued until the second drawer.

Soon she found the spot where Steed’s file should be, but there was no folder in sight.

Suddenly, the door slammed, and it's echo reverberated through the entire building. Tara glanced up from her investigation, her whole body besieged with terror. Mr. Smyth glared at her with such wrath in his eyes that she was certain he would have killed her right then if it wasn't for the fact that Mother and Rhonda were next to him.

"We caught you snooping again, Miss King, and you can be sure that this time you'll face the consequences." Smyth advanced towards Tara, looking ready to pounce on the contumacious agent.

Tara ran to Mother for refuge, even though he looked as infuriated as Smyth. "Why can't I find Steed's file? Is it because he's married, and you didn't want anyone finding out?" With this last comment, Tara produced the engagement ring.

"Where did you find this?" Mother asked, successfully evading her question.

Tara didn’t want to get Mrs. Gale in trouble. ”I found it in his flat,” she answered truthfully. She stared pitifully at Mother, her dreams of marrying Steed quickly disintegrating.

"How did this item get out of storage?" Mother turned his contemptuous glare onto Smyth.

"It wasn't my job; it was Mitchell's." Smyth was now whinging in a very childish manner.

Tara interrupted their quibbling. "Please tell me what's going on!"

Smyth and Mother exchanged simultaneous glances, and then Smyth lifted Tara off her feet, dragging her into Mother's office. "Now it's time for a precious bedtime story," Smyth explained maliciously.

"You must swear not to tell a living soul about this information, for as soon as you do, we will find you and brainwash you to forget." Mother stared at her solemnly before continuing, "Do you understand, Tara?"

Tara managed to nod in response, but really she still had no idea of what was going on. All she knew was that Steed was probably married and she was miserable. She listened intently to Mother's tale, not wishing to miss a single word.

Mother cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling, as if that would help him narrate the story better. "Once there was an intelligent, handsome, young man by the name of John Wickham Gascoyne Berresford Steed. To use an oxymoron, he was a roguish gentleman. He could never get through the day without…well, flirting, but he did it with such a respectable manner hardly anyone ever minded, especially the ladies.

“Steed was part of a spy agency, and he was extremely good at his profession. One day he was assigned to a particularly difficult case: businessmen were disappearing after being stalked, and no one knew who was the kidnapper. All they knew was these businessmen were staying at a fancy resort near Derbyshire, and that it was imperative that Steed hurry on over with one of his partners. I don't remember which partner it was, either King or Keel. You see, I wasn't the head of the ministry at this time, so I'm just relaying the information that was given to me at the time of my initiation. Anyway, Steed and, whichever man it was, sleuthed and eventually completed the case.

“While on this mission, Steed had meant an attractive young woman, and being what kind of a man he was, Steed had been trying to win her affections. However, this woman was Steed's counterpart in almost every way. She would not fall so easily for the charming Steed, and for once, Steed was at a loss. He did everything humanly possible to get her to love him. I don't know how or when it happened, but this woman eventually fell desperately in love with him."

"I can tell you how it happened, Mother," Tara interrupted him quietly. "Steed is just so very wonderful at everything that it's natural for every woman to fall in love with him."

Mother muttered some sort of agreement and then continued, "Steed, knowing how difficult it had been to get this woman to love him, realised it would be indecent just to end the relationship, but what else was there to do? He thought and he thought, and finally, he made a rather startling discovery. He, John Steed, renowned agent and bachelor, had for the first time in his thirty odd years of existence fallen in love."

A nauseated feeling entered Tara's stomach at the thought of Steed being in love with a woman who was not her. She plucked up enough courage to ask, "What did Steed do? Marry her?"

"He proposed to her, and they became engaged, spending all of their time together, a terrible thing to do to such an independent woman and to such an accomplished agent."

"But they were in love," Tara protested, "and if I know Steed, he did everything he could to make her happy."

"Of course he did. Steed and his beloved both worked, him as an operative, her as a businesswoman. They both found the arrangement admirable. Then the inevitable occurred, and Steed was faced with a new challenge. His fiancée was—"

"In the family way?" Tara shrieked in alarm.

"No, she was getting tired of the business world and wanted to join the ministry as an amatuer spy. Steed thought it was a simple enough request. She was a very talented young woman and could easily be trained. But One-ten, who was the head of the ministry at the time, disagreed, and I can see why. If his fiancée, soon to be bride, was his work partner, Steed was liable to get distracted from his work. They would put their own lives above the mission, which could lead to criminals getting away.

“Soon Steed was taking off more days to spend with his bride-to-be, and so One-ten became panicky. What if this was Steed's way of letting the ministry know that he wanted to quit? So One-ten did the only thing he could think of: he brainwashed Steed to forget that he had ever been engaged, and he brainwashed his fiancée to think she was a widow of a man named Mr. Peter Peel. One-ten programmed them to think they had been former lovers that had moved on. That way, if they ever met again, they would remember their past, but not in its entirety. It would be too much of a strain on the mind to totally erase each other from their memories.

“Unfortunately, the two of them  _ did  _ meet again, which I’m still working out  _ how _ , and they became worryingly close again. So I hired an actor to carry Mrs. Peel away from Steed before he became careless. Richard Thoms was supposed to keep her distracted long enough to ask for a divorce, and Steed would be given a professional partner.”

Tara let out a gasp of utter shock. Then her feelings all spilled out like rain in a torrential downpour. "You had no right to do that to Steed! He was happy, and you didn't have any proof that he wanted to quit the ministry! Mrs. Peel—I mean, Miss Knight—had every right to work with her fiancé, and that's a  _ stupid _ reason as to why she couldn't join the ministry!"

Mother looked indignantly at her. "You should be grateful that One-ten programmed them and glad that I and every other head of the ministry has had the wisdom to keep them brainwashed for all these years. We could have lost one of the country’s leading agents and for what? A marriage that wouldn't have worked out."

"Steed would _never_ divorce; it's not dignified to do such a thing. Besides, from the way you described it, he seemed ecstatic about his relationship." Tara buried her head in her hands. "Oh, Steed, I wish you knew the truth—oh no, I don't!" Tara shook her head as she murmured, "I'm most seriously confused."

"Well, don't worry about a thing, Miss King," Smyth said with all the consolation of an oily salesman. "You can't ever tell him, because if you do, you’ll break Steed’s psyche. Only a deprogramming from our agency can bring his memories back without permanent damage."

“And you wouldn’t want to experience the brainwashing yourself, now would you?” Mother added ominously.

Tara gazed in horror at the solemn men before, and with an unexpected surge of courage, she stood up and proclaimed, "I learned several things in the classes I took in being an agent. Try to brainwash me and Steed, but remember, you're the ones who taught us everything we know. We can fight dirty, and I mean  _ dirty _ ."

Tara noted their nervous glances and added, "Don't worry about my revealing everything to Steed, gentlemen. I couldn't bring myself to tell the man I love that he's in love with someone else. Your secret is safe with me, but if Steed ever shows any sign of being in love with Mrs. Peel, you can be sure he'll find out the truth." Tara marched confidently out of the building, but as soon as she was safe from any prying eyes, she broke down.

John Steed, the love of her relatively short life, was in love with a woman she had always suspected he fancied the most. When she thought of the many witty comments and tender glances Steed and Emma had exchanged, her heart seemed to writhe with pain.

No, she would never tell Steed the truth. Let him rue the day he ever met "Mrs. Peel," flirt with scads of girls, even kiss other women. She would be resolute in her decision, as resolute as Mother and Mr. Smyth.

Tara chuckled maniacally, pure jealousy attacking her heart, soul, and mind. Mother was right to have kept them brainwashed, but then he had to be right. For as the old adage goes, "Mother knows best."

****

When Steed came to, he was lying across Mrs. Gale’s sofa with a wet cloth on his brow, Cathy frowning down at him with concern. “You doing better?” she asked.

“I think so.” He gingerly sat up and scrambled to locate his bowler.

Mrs. Gale kindly handed it back to him. “Let’s not push it any further for today. Why don’t you go home and rest up?”

“I shall, but I also have a dinner engagement with Mrs. Peel. I already broke it once. I don’t want to do it again.”

“If you’re sure you’re up to it…” 

But Steed was already out the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Gale,” he called back over his shoulder.

After a change of clothes, Steed made his way over to Mrs. Peel’s apartment. He pressed her doorbell with the handle of his black brolly and waited. When Emma finally opened the door, Steed seemed to go into a speechless stupor.

She was dressed in a slinky black dress, complete with a revealing split in the side. Her hair had been curled and then piled onto her head in a hairstyle that Steed did not often see on the attractive lady. She smiled provocatively and said, "I hope this isn't too formal for the restaurant you chose."

Steed regained his composure and replied, "I said it was an expensive restaurant, and that black tie was imperative."

Emma smiled and admitted Steed into her home. "I thought we'd have a glass of sherry before we left, if that's all right with you."

Steed glanced at his watch as he did the maths. "Our reservation isn't until eight o'clock, so that leaves us with ten minutes for aperitifs and fifteen minutes to drive to the restaurant."

"I gather this place you're taking me isn't the little French Cafe I've heard you praise so often." Emma Peel poured two glasses of their favourite sherry wine and handed one to Steed.

"No, it's better than the French Cafe and for several reasons. First of all, it has tables in dark corners, so I will be able to hide my black eye fairly well." Steed grinned with pleasure, but Emma merely raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

"Are you sure that's the reason you like the dark corners?" She didn't wait for a response but asked, "By the way, how is your eye?"

"It's doing much better thanks to the capable nursing of a certain charming woman." Steed raised his glass as a gesture of gratitude.

"Don't flatter me too much. As I recall, I did absolutely nothing." Emma poured herself some more sherry and strolled over to her window. She looked up to the sky and exclaimed, "What a lovely night!"

Steed wandered over to the window to see what she meant. "I ordered the evening just for you, my dear."

"I can't see the stars too well. Either I'm going blind, or they're too far away to be seen clearly."

Steed gazed into her brown eyes, outlined by long lashes. "What a pity; they're so beautiful… the stars, that is."

Emma turned around and collided with Steed. They stared at each other for several seconds as if wondering what to do. This would have been the most opportune time to kiss if it weren't for the fact that Mrs. Peel was married, or so they both thought.

Finally Emma snapped out of the spell like state and hurried over to her personal bar. With a giant, lamentable sigh, she poured herself some more wine.

"Don't get tipsy, Emm—er—Mrs. Peel," Steed warned, concern noticeable in his voice.

Emma tried to collect herself, but she was having great difficulty. This was the second time in 24 hours that she had had the insatiable impulse to kiss Steed. There had been a few times when she had been working as a talented amatuer that they had toed the line between friendship and romance, but there had always been a niggling reminder in the back of their minds that Peter Peel might not be dead.  _ If I were a widow, I'd kiss Steed as if there was no tomorrow _ , Emma thought. Being married seemed to be a greater burden than it should be, and she was at a loss as to what she should do. She took another sip of sherry and, feigning a smile, turned to Steed. "It's about time to leave, don't you think?"

Steed responded by draping a fur boa around Mrs. Peel and escorting her out the door. As he drove her to the restaurant, a silence seemed to cover them like a dark pall. Steed realised he had almost kissed Emma, and this concerned him. According to Mrs. Gale, he was programmed to avoid long term relationships and stick to flirtations. He didn’t want to use Emma Peel the same way he used everyone else. She was too special to him.

Without a single word, the two mutually ignored the strange incident and began to look forward to the exquisite dinner that awaited them...

Later that evening, Steed ushered an extremely inebriated Emma Peel to her flat. It seemed she had tried to submerse herself in the champagne to forget her troubles. Emma swaggered into her flat, humming softly to herself. She dropped her wrap on the floor and sat down on her sofa, kicking her shoes off to add to the tipsy movements. "That was a lovely dinner, Steed. We should do it more often; don't you agree?"

"You realise when your husband returns home you won't be able to see me in that capacity. It wouldn't be proper for a gentleman to be calling on a married woman for dinner."

Emma startled at this piece of information and exclaimed vehemently, "Then I hope he never returns home." She hiccoughed, shattering the romantic yet awkward atmosphere. She stumbled to her feet but then immediately sat down again. Steed was about to make his departure when Emma said, "You know what I'm going to do tomorrow?"

Steed really wasn't prepared for that sort of question, so he merely shrugged and muttered several indistinguishable words. This seemed to be an adequate answer for Emma, because she continued, "I'm going over to the old furniture warehouse down on Brighton Lane, and I'm going to investigate the area."

Steed raised an eyebrow, questioning Mrs. Peel's sobriety. "Why would you go to that dangerous area of London?"

"I'll tell you why." Emma smiled a strange, intoxicated smile before commencing her explanation. "When Avery came to kidnap me, he told me in strictest confidence that he and Baccarat were going to take me to the old warehouse. They are probably hiding out there, for why else would Avery say he was going to take me there?"

"Why else indeed?" Steed didn't know whether he should believe her or not, so he decided to go with his instincts. He listened to Mrs. Peel as if she was sober and sane. “Did it occur to you that they may have moved since Avery revealed their location?”

"Oh, bother it all. Why are villains so sneaky?” Emma stood up once more and began to sloppily take out her hairdo. “Steed, what are you going to do tomorrow?" 

“I think I'll see why Mother is acting like an ol’ stick in the mud." Smiling, Steed steadied his tipsy companion by taking hold of her shoulders. "Now, you get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning. And lock the door behind me." Steed sauntered to the door. "I'll be over bright and early with my secret recipe for a stinger. It'll be sure to clear your hangover in half an hour." With that last remark, Steed quit the apartment.

She gazed adoringly at her closed front door, as if hoping Steed would appear again. As she did so, she made a surprising discovery.  _ I'm in love with John Steed! _ Emma Peel was in the worst predicament of her life. She was married to a man she didn't love, who may or may not be alive, and in love with a man who was certainly alive, but she wasn't married to. She hiccoughed again and shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. She stumbled to her bedroom, barely making it to her bed.

_ If only I hadn't gone to the reunion party two days ago, _ she thought remorsefully. T _ hen I wouldn't have realised my true feelings for Steed, and I would have just thought our relationship was just one of those flirtations that spins off into oblivion. Well, I know now, and there's nothing I can do about it. My husband is still MIA, so I can’t ask for a divorce. And even if he did divorce me, Steed still wouldn't want me! He’s not made for a long-term relationship. It’s why I married Peter Peel in the first place. Wasn’t it?  _

Her head started to pound even louder, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. As she went back into the recesses of her mind, she fought to make sense of the why and wherefores of her relationship with Peter. Had she met Peter before or after Steed? Was she attracted to Steed because he reminded her of Peter, or was she attracted to Peter because he reminded her of Steed? 

Emma would have continued with her circuitous brooding if an unexpected knock hadn't come from her bedroom door. Thinking it might be Steed returning, she ran to the door and answered it. Avery and Baccarat smiled evilly at her, and Baccarat pointed a gun at her slender frame.

Emma stared at the two intruders, gaped at the gun, and made a dash for her living room. In her haste, she knocked over a lamp, sending it shattering to the ground in a myriad of fragments.

Baccarat aimed his gun at her, but Avery checked him, saying, "We want the bird alive and in one piece when we take her." Baccarat sighed and lowered his weapon.

Emma dizzily searched for the revolver Avery had left in her flat. Unfortunately, Avery spotted it first and snatched it up from its resting place on her coffee table. "Now come peaceably,  _ wifey _ ." Avery said the name with such disdain that Emma cringed.

Wishing she hadn't drunk quite as much and that she wasn't wearing a dress, Emma faced her nemesis. She dove at Avery, but he deftly evaded her move. "I've been taking lessons in self defense ever since we last met." Avery joked mockingly.

Emma gave an unruly hiccup in response, and her secret was instantly revealed. "She's drunk! Well, this will make our job easier!" Baccarat exclaimed gleefully. He grabbed the inebriated lady, who tried in vain to lose his strong grip.

Avery grinned wickedly and advanced towards the two of them. He held up a white handkerchief that was heavily doused in chloroform, placing it over Emma's nose and mouth. Emma fought the poisoning smell, but it was fruitless. As she slipped into unconsciousness, Emma gave one last look at her now swirling surroundings, and then she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My backstory for Emma and Steed comes from two sources. First, it's based on Patrick Macnee and Diana Rigg's own idea for their characters. They decided to play Emma and Steed as if they were former lovers who had amicably broken up and were now friends (possibly FWB; you decide based on those looks!). Mrs. Peel and Mrs. Gale were both created as widowed women because of some antiquated idea about a single bachelor like Steed spending all of his spare time with a single woman. Apparently, two single people would naturally have to be "together" if they were spending all of their time with one another. But a widowed woman would be too busy mourning her husband's death to get involved? Don't ask. By the time Tara became Steed's partner, the sexual revolution had started and no one cared about these conventions anymore.


	6. Second Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is invited to Russia.  
> Steed destroys a commie plot.
> 
> RIP Diana Rigg :(

Steed strolled out the door of Mrs. Peel's apartment complex, mechanically swinging his brolly. Suddenly, he was pelted with a myriad of gigantic raindrops that thoroughly soaked him in several seconds. Steed rushed over to his old, unroofed car and groaned. "The weatherman predicted rain, so I was absolutely convinced it would be sunny for the remainder of the day." He opened his umbrella emphatically to show how frustrated he was.

"Try putting this tarpaulin over the seats, Steed, and then come home in my car." An arm extended towards him, holding a black tarp. "You could always take a cab back here tomorrow and pick up your car."

Steed followed the arm past the shoulders and up to the head to behold Tara staring at him in her seductive manner. “I thought you might be needing this protection right about now," she said.

"Tara, how did you find me?!"

"I merely followed my instincts. You have to admit you've been spending an awful lot of time with Mrs. Peel." Tara tried to keep the insinuating tone out of her voice but didn't succeed very well. She helped Steed spread the tarp across his automobile's seats.

Steed glanced towards Emma's window and replied almost defensively, "We're very good friends, and it just so happens I got involved in a little mystery that revolves around Mrs. Peel."

"I didn't mean to offend you." To keep from getting wetter and to get closer to Steed, Tara hurriedly stood under the umbrella with him. "Listen, there's something important I've been meaning to tell you." In an instant, Tara forgot all propriety on how it was indecent to make declarations of love to a man who was spoken for. Steed was still single as far as she and his brainwashed mind were concerned, so making romantic overtures seemed the appropriate thing to do.

"I—we've been through a lot together, Steed," Tara began, her eyes shining radiantly with love light. "That's why I know it's the right thing to tell you that I—"

"Tara," Steed interrupted gently, "I'm quite aware of your feelings for me, but you know how I am." He patted her arm consolingly, trying to ease her utter disappointment. "I could never love one girl enough to marry her."

"You'll just love all the married women instead, because you know nothing can come of the relationship!" Tara yanked her arm out of his loose grip and turned away from him in an ardent rage. "Oh, go ahead hate me for that remark! At least I'd know what you truly think of me, instead of leading me on in this never-ending charade of flirtations!"

Tara began crying grief stricken tears that horrified Steed. He had never seen a lady so upset over him and his actions in all of his forty some years of life. He tried to comfort her, but it was quite futile. His attempt at consolation seemed to aggravate her more, and Tara began choking on her tears.

"I'm terribly sorry, Steed. I didn't mean to carry on in such an improper fashion. It's just—"

A clamorous, crashing sound emerged from Emma's flat. Steed and Tara stared at the window in astonishment, and then they dashed into the apartment complex as quickly as possible. They ran to Emma's front door only to discover it was opened.

Steed bolted into the flat, and, looking at the fragmented lamp now lying on the floor, he immediately knew what had happened. Avery and Baccarat had kidnapped Mrs. Peel. In a flood of desperation, he called, "Mrs. Peel, Mrs. Peel!" No one answered his shouts, as was expected.

Steed ran to the back entrance-way of the complex. In the distance, a black car was speeding away from the alley. Steed couldn't tell how many people were in the vehicle, but he guessed there were three passengers: Avery, Baccarat, and Mrs. Peel.

Steed trudged back to Emma's flat, frustrated and angry. He despised it when circumstances were out of his control. It made him realise his mortality, and that realisation caused him to worry more than was advisable. He slouched onto her settee, trying desperately to devise a plan.

Tara broke his sulky silence with the suggestion, "Maybe Mrs. Peel just went out for some fresh air and in her clumsiness broke a lamp."

"This is neither the time nor the place for frivolous comments, Tara!"

"I was only trying to be helpful," Tara protested peevishly, "and I didn't notice you making any suggestions."

"The time for suggestions is over. We need to be forming solutions. Mrs. Peel was kidnapped, and we need to find her before she is killed."

"Maybe she already was murdered, and we’re just wasting time." Tara's pessimistic remark did not bear well on Steed's already flustered brain. As the idea dawned on him, he raised his hands in dismay.

Tara realised her ghastly mistake but didn't try to rectify it. Instead she surveyed the surroundings until something white caught her eye. She stooped among the shattered pieces of the lamp and retrieved a handkerchief. "Steed, look: a handkerchief with," she sniffed the article gingerly, "chloroform on it! Mrs. Peel must have been drugged and then dragged off! This means she wasn't dead when she was taken from her flat! "

"Yes, but where was she taken?" Steed pondered for a few seconds until he remembered Mrs. Peel's information about Avery and Baccarat hiding in the old furniture warehouse. "Come on; I think I know where Mrs. Peel is. At least I hope so. Let’s pray these blackguards are imbeciles." Steed rushed outside once more, Tara tagging closely behind him.

Tara wouldn't have rescued Emma if it weren't for the fact that it was her patriotic duty to try to save the life of a fellow servant of the Queen. Since this was the case, she suggested they take her automobile because it was faster and had a roof. Steed wasted no time in agreeing, and soon they were speeding down the road through the torrential downpour.

"Poor Mrs. Peel. I hope we're not too late," Tara murmured untactfully, as she noted Steed's expression. Steed remained emotionless, except for his wrathful eyes.

"If she's not safe, I don't know what I'll do," Steed proclaimed helplessly. Abruptly, his countenance turned hard, and he added darkly, "I'll just have to kill Avery and Baccarat if Mrs. Peel is harmed."

Tara's jealousy took hold of her senses as she listened to Steed worry over Emma's kidnapping. This man had been programmed to not remember his love for Emma and yet against all odds he was proving himself just as enamoured with her as before! And to top it all, he had rebuffed Tara’s advances earlier in the street. Tara had been on the brink of telling him the truth about his being brainwashed, but she was doubly sure she wouldn't now. With this thought in mind, Tara drove towards the warehouse.

****

Emma strained to break the heavy hemp rope that was binding her to a rickety chair. Her desperate attempts seemed futile, but nevertheless, she continued to try to break free.

She stopped a moment to survey her surroundings. A large, dark room loomed over and around her, showing off its damp walls and ceiling. A menacing-looking metal door stood near the middle of the right wall. Several pieces of old furniture, forgotten and neglected ever since the warehouse had been closed, were strewn over the cement floor.

Emma sighed in despair and cringed when the rope cut into her wrists. She'd just have to wait until Steed arrived. She hoped he remembered what she had told him about Avery and Baccarat's hiding place.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Avery stepped into the room, holding his strange revolver. Baccarat was close behind his accomplice. They grinned evilly as if they knew a sinister secret that couldn't be revealed to a proper woman like Emma Peel.

"Should I gag her, Ed?" Avery reached for his handkerchief and then stopped. “Oh that’s right. I left my hanky at your flat for Steed to find!”

Ed added, "No gags necessary. I want Steed to be able to hear her screams when he arrives. It's so tragic to think that John Steed will be killed when he tries to rescue his lady friend."

"Don't you think Steed will be able to evade your bullets?" Emma nodded at the guns with a questioning gaze.

"Not with our surefire plan." Avery boasted.

"I'll be standing by the front entrance and Avery will be waiting by the back. If Steed tries to enter the warehouse, one of us will kill him." Baccarat smiled nefariously.

"Then when Steed's dead will come back here and get you ready for your new life in the USSR!" Avery seemed to enjoy telling Emma Peel of her impending doom.

"That's your surefire plan? I'd like to see what happens when your strategy fails," Emma replied dryly.

Baccarat didn't seem to hear her impertinent comment. "Isn't it wonderful, Mrs. Peel? In several minutes, we'll have relieved Great Britain of two of its greatest spies." Baccarat noted Emma's surprised expression and continued, "Yes, we know that John Wickham Berresford Gascoyne Steed is an agent, and that you were his partner. We were hired for a bee-yoo-tee-full fee to kidnap you and take you to the Motherland to help the Soviets with their space missions."

“The Americans won. They put the first man on the moon. How am I going to top that?” Emma demanded.

Avery shrugged. “That’s the Russians' problem. We really couldn’t care less. We just know our job was made easy by the fact that you were in a market for a husband. I was happy to fill the role." Avery began to snigger, and he had to control himself before he added, "It's time that you were made aware that your husband is never coming home."

"That's not true!" Emma looked ready to either clobber him or cry.

Avery was laughing so hysterically that Baccarat had to raise a hand to silence him. He ran out of the room and returned several seconds later. "Steed has arrived, and another bird is with him."

Avery rubbed his hands together briskly. "Splendid, we'll have a double murder."

Emma tried her luck at stalling. "Why, may I ask, are you doing this? Don’t you have any loyalty to the free world?" She stared at them expectantly, waiting for the usual answer. Emma was not disappointed.

"My dear lady, don't you see? With the best agents out of the way, namely you and Steed, it's only a short while before the country collapses." A wicked glint filled Baccarat's eyes as he continued, "Chaos will reign, and crime rates will soar. In a matter of years, criminals will be ruling the world."

"Why am I not surprised?" Emma said dully, indicating this was not the first time she had heard this excuse.

"Avery, let's take our places," Baccarat ordered. The two headed for the front and back entrances, leaving the metal door wide open.

Mrs. Peel was alone with her frenzied thoughts. If she screamed to warn Steed of the great peril that awaited him, he might get careless and step right in front of one of the criminals and their guns. However, if she remained silent, he was in as much danger as before. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to warn him. "Steed, watch out for Avery and Baccarat!"

Meanwhile, creeping slowly towards the warehouse front entrance, Steed suddenly heard Emma's shouts of alarm. "Mrs. Peel is in there!" he whispered to Tara unnecessarily. Tara merely nodded and continued sneaking to the door.

Avery aimed his gun at the two and pulled the trigger. The revolver clicked but did nothing more. "Blast this malfunction," he cried. "Next time I won't buy a gun from a man who has no identity and sells merchandise on the street." He pulled the trigger again and again. On the fourth try the revolver fired, sending a bullet sailing through the air towards Steed's heart!

However, while Avery had been fiddling with his fluky gun, Tara had heard him. Just as Avery had fired a fourth time, Tara had stepped in front of Steed to alert him about the noises. As the bullet whizzed by, Steed stepped back, but unfortunately Tara did not. It grazed Tara's arm, causing her to fall to her knees in pain.

Alarmed, Steed bent over to examine her. "First Mrs. Gale gets a bullet in her arm trying to save me*, and now you." Steed held her in his arms for a moment, consoling her as best as he could. Then with a fit of rage, Steed stood up.

"Steed, get down. It's suicide to stand there in plain view," Tara called faintly.

Not heeding her warning, Steed advanced towards the criminal. Avery was too occupied pulling the trigger two times in order for the gun to work. When he finally jerked his head up, he was confronted with a glaring Steed.

"You harmed Tara and Mrs. Peel, so now you must pay the consequences." Steed's ruthless side showed through as he pulled out his umbrella handle to reveal a rapier. Avery tried to fire at him, but Steed flung the gun out of his hands with one agile move of the sword. The revolver flew through the air and landed by Tara.

Inflicted with pain, Tara could not retrieve the weapon. The gun gleamed tantalisingly, a pool of water quickly forming as the rain poured down.

Avery faced his adversary bravely, eyeing the revolver the whole time. He moved to the left, but so did Steed. Avery stood still for a moment, trying to devise his next move. Finally, he made a dash for the revolver, but Steed quickly followed him.

They both grabbed for the revolver, shoving each other in a childish manner. Steed delivered a heavy punch to Avery, which sent him sprawling to the ground. On his way down, Avery kicked Steed, who lost his footing for a moment but quickly regained it.

Tara grabbed the gun, saying to Steed, "Go after him before he gets away!" Steed turned to attack Avery.

Avery had slunk into the warehouse, so Steed hurried after him. Unfortunately, as he was about to enter the building, Baccarat came around the corner. He merely glanced at Steed before he opened fire. His gun did not seem to have a malfunction, for he continued to shoot at Steed.

Tara thought of shooting the revolver, but then she knew it would take three more pulls of the trigger before it would fire again. Besides, with her wounded right arm it would be difficult to shoot at anything. She might miss Edmund Baccarat and hit Steed instead! All she could do was sit and wait, letting her bones be chilled by the torrent of rain.

Steed dodged the shower of bullets that seemed to be as insistent as the rain. He ran around in a frenzied circle, hoping to confuse Edmund. It seemed to work, for Baccarat stopped to reload his gun.

Steed used this pause to stealthily attack Baccarat from behind. He grabbed him by the neck and put his rapier under Baccarat's chin. Baccarat dropped his bullets and gun in surprise and horror. "Now you will show me where Mrs. Peel is," Steed ordered menacingly.

Baccarat looked ready to surrender, but at the last moment he jutted his elbow into Steed's breadbasket. Steed dropped his sword, which pierced Baccarat's flesh. Filled with anger, Baccarat turned on his nemesis and punched him in the jaw.

Steed returned the gesture by boxing his nose. Baccarat kicked his shins and grabbed his wrist. With a powerful surge of energy, he began twisting Steed's hand. As he fought Baccarat's strong grip, Steed tried to resist the impulse to shout out in pain. With his free hand he punched his opponent’s right eye. Baccarat let go in order to clutch his face in pain. Steed stood still for a moment, rubbing his wrist and regaining his breath.

Baccarat snatched the rapier off the ground and pointed its sharp edge at Steed. He kicked his gun into the warehouse, where it was lost in the foreboding darkness. "It's been a pleasure fighting with you Steed," Edmund snarled as he lunged at Steed.

Steed backed up against the outside wall of the warehouse, watching in terror as Baccarat advanced towards him again. He was cornered!

Tara surveyed the dastardly situation and knew she had to save Steed. Shaking, Tara raised the gun in her left arm. She aimed the weapon at Baccarat's back and fired, but, of course, nothing happened. In desperation, she pulled the trigger again, but once more, a blank was fired. Tara watched in horror as Baccarat wrapped his arm around Steed and pulled him to the ground. The revolver went off again as Steed struggled to his feet and tried to punch his opponent. 

Unfortunately, Avery appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him from behind. If she didn't shoot now, Steed would be killed! Tara aimed at Baccarat who was advancing on the trapped Steed, squinted her eyes, and fired a fourth time.

A groan emerged from the lips of Baccarat as he fell forward towards Steed. He was still pointing the rapier outward, so Steed only had a second to kick Avery and hop out of the way. Avery looked at his dead partner in horror and ran off into the warehouse.

Steed watched as Baccarat slumped to the ground, dead. He glanced over at the quaking Tara, and his eyes filled with gratitude. Steed grabbed his rapier and wandered over to Miss King. Helping her to her feet, he murmured, "Thank you, my dear."

They entered the warehouse cautiously, but it seemed that Avery was nowhere in the thick darkness. Steed strained his eyes, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings. He stopped walking and waited for his eyes to adjust. When his eyes finally got accustomed to the dark, Steed was able to see a closed metal door right in front of him. He laughed nervously, thinking how stupid he had been not to have seen it until then.

Steed tried to open the door, but it was locked. He leaned against the door and heard scuffling noises. "We've got to break the lock! Hand me the gun, Tara."

Tara did as she was told and watched as Steed banged the lock with the handle of the gun. Once the lock was broken, Steed burst through the door to behold Avery stuffing a bound Mrs. Peel into a box.

Steed wasted no time in a petty fight. He patted Avery politely on the back and waited for him to turn around. Once he had William Avery's full attention, he hit him on the head with the blunt end of the gun. Avery plopped to the floor noiselessly.

Steed smiled in satisfaction and began untying Emma. "How are you, my dear?"

Emma sighed in relief as she was released from her bondage. She carefully stretched her appendages before answering, "Much better now that you've arrived." She gazed at the revolver in his hand and remarked, "You know, for saying you never handle guns, you've been using them a lot lately."

Without missing a beat, Steed replied, "Well, there's always the exception to the rule."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cathy took a bullet for Steed in "The Wringer."


	7. Third Day & Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy Saves the Day.  
> Steed and Emma Get Their Happy Ending.  
> Tara Changes Partners.

Steed and Emma drove up to Emma's flat in Tara's Lotus. After scrunching in Tara's vehicle to  take her to the hospital, it was a relief to have just two people in the car. (Tomorrow, Emma  would drive Tara's car home for her, since she would not be able to drive for a while. Then Mrs.  Peel would take a taxi cab back to her own flat.)

The pre-dawn light was casting grey shadows on everything. Silvery leaves on a tree swayed  restlessly in the light breeze. The whole town, for one hour, was asleep.

Steed and Peel entered her flat, solemn and silent. Suddenly, Emma spoke, "Thank you for  saving my life."

Steed looked surprised at this comment. He had rescued her from many perils before, but she had never thanked him until now. "May I ask you why you suddenly felt the need to express your gratitude?"

"I won't ever see you again." Emma glanced forlornly at his stunned face.

He nearly staggered backwards in shock. "Why won't you see me again?"

"Because….because my husband is finally coming home, and I know it's not an impostor this  time," she lied. "I received a telephone call from him yesterday." Emma wished she  didn't love Steed, but as it was, she did. And being a respectable married woman who had to wait for the law to declare her husband dead, she would have to give Steed up. She wished there was an easier way to get out of her predicament, though, instead of lying to the man she loved.

Steed didn’t believe her for a minute, but he also respected Emma’s wishes. This  _ thing,  _ this palpable current that existed between them couldn’t be denied. But if she didn’t want him, what choice did he have? He cleared his throat nervously and replied, "Well, I guess this is the end. I mean, goodbye, my dear, and good luck." He tenderly kissed both of her cheeks. "If you ever need someone to help you solve a mystery or sample wine with you, just call on me."

"That won't ever happen," Emma said a bit too brusquely, fighting the urge to cry. "It was lovely seeing you again," she added, trying to make her decision less hurtful. Suddenly, her feelings got the better of her, and two large tears slid down her face.

"Emma….I..." He tried to form the words, but something wouldn’t let him. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I'll miss you," he managed to say.  _ At least the brainwashing will let me do that much _ , he thought dully. With this last sentimental declaration, Steed exited her flat. 

"Steed!" Emma shouted desperately after the dispirited shell of John Steed. But he had already left her apartment. And her life.

****

Catherine Gale was not one for subterfuge. Despite her two years of working with Steed, she had never enjoyed the lying and underhanded conniving it took to be a spy. She hadn’t been happy with the woman she had become nor pleased with the man Steed had been programmed to be. But as a woman with a moral compass, she couldn’t idly stand by as her friend’s life was ruined, and if that meant she had to use duplicity and seduction one last time to save his life, then so be it. 

Which is why she found herself with Mrs. Parker, of all people, embarking on mission SOS (Save Our Steed). Cathy had called Smyth early that morning promising to fill him in on who had given Steed his engagement ring. While she was entertaining Smyth in his office, Mrs. Parker was talking to the scientists in the reprogramming unit. The ladies’ plans were going to intersect very shortly.

“So, Mrs. Gale, you said you had information for me?” Smyth fidgeted impatiently in his chair.

Cathy seated herself on the edge of his desk, making sure her skirt was raised several inches above the knee for full effect. “Yes, I know who took the ring.” She very slowly crossed her legs.

Smyth had the decency to blush and look down at his lap. “So who was it?”

“That would be me."

When Smyth raised his head in surprise, he was met with the cold end of a pistol. He slumped over in his chair. The door swung open at the moment, and Mrs. Parker daintily stepped in with a man in a white lab coat. Cathy stood next to the desk now, feigning concern. “He started muttering about his head, and then he collapsed.”

“Mother wants him deprogrammed right away before the brainwashing fries his mind completely!” Mrs. Parker exclaimed.

The scientist sighed and shook his head. “I told Mother messing with people’s minds was dangerous. But did anyone listen? Noooo…”

As Smyth was dragged away, Cathy Gale and Mrs. Parker shook hands. Step one of SOS was complete. On to step two.

At noon, Cathy walked up to Steed's front door, sighing deeply. She determinedly knocked

the door and when no one answered, rang the doorbell. Finally, Steed heard the insistent chiming and opened the door. Cathy took one long look at his face and knew something was wrong.

He had dark circles under his lifeless eyes, and his lips formed a small frown. "Mrs. Gale, what a pleasant surprise," he said monotonously. He opened the door wider to usher her in.

Cathy solemnly walked into his flat, but before she could state her business, Steed began the  cordial ceremony of being a host. "Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Gale, or maybe a cucumber sandwich. Mrs. Peel and I…" his voice trailed off. "Anyway, a friend of mine from my RAF days used to be enormously fond of cucumber sandwiches. Those were the days, going to the pub every night when things weren't going well; going to the pub every night when they were.”

Thinking he was done rambling, Cathy began, "Steed, I need to talk to you. What happened  yesterday at the old warehouse?"

Steed didn't answer but instead said, "I remember he used to rave when I didn't make my c ucumber sandwiches."

"Steed, it's of the utmost importance that I speak to you."

"Well, then speak if it's so urgent—would you care for some brandy?" Steed began pouring a  glass for her.

"I never indulge in spirits before lunch."

"Do you mind if I have a drink? Good." Steed began guzzling down the liquor as if it were water.

"Steed, listen to me, please." She stared at him, but he merely poured himself another glass.

"All right, you've forced me to take desperate measures." Mrs. Gale grabbed Steed by the arm and shoved him into a seat. "Now you'll have to answer me. What happened last night at the warehouse?"

"How do you know about that? I only reported the incident to Mother several hours ago."

“I was at the ministry when the news came in."

"Well, that’s odd. I thought you had retired from the world of espionage.”

“Call it one last hurrah. Anyway, what happened?”

“Two men kidnapped Mrs. Peel last night, and Tara and I saved her. Poor Tara got shot in the arm."

Cathy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Will she be all right?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to go pick her up from hospital in an hour or so. What a faithful girl that Tara is, unlike Mrs. Peel." Steed's eyes sparked with anger as he spoke. "Why did she tell me to go away? We were perfectly happy—well, I thought so."

"And you still can’t see how desperately in love with Emma you are." Cathy shook her head. 

“You have an overactive imagination,” he murmured automatically. He slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, force of habit.” His grey eyes were pained. “I couldn’t say the words to her, Mrs. Gale. They literally wouldn’t come from my mouth.”

Cathy’s visage softened with sympathy. “It's the programming. Don’t worry, we’ll soon sort you out.”

"It doesn’t matter anyways. Even if I could shout it from the rooftops that I have feelings for Mrs. Peel, she doesn’t want to see me anymore. She told me her husband was coming home, and she didn't think it would be respectable to be friends with me, or something absurd like that."

Cathy jolted in alarm. "That can't be true! Either Emma is lying, or there's an impostor  playing her husband again!"

"How did you know about the first impostor?"

"I didn’t know his name, but every person that worked at the ministry as your partner knew about the fake Mr. Peel."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would working with me require you to know about Mrs. Peel’s fake husband?”

"Because the two are connected."

"First I was brainwashed to forget I was engaged, and now I was brainwashed to forget that there was an imposter playing Mr. Peel! If I didn’t know any better, I would say you should get your head examined, not me."

"Don't be impertinent with me," Cathy snapped peevishly.

"But Mrs. Peel wasn't working as an agent until after you left," Steed protested. “Why would you need to know about her husband?”

Cathy explained rather impatiently, "Emma was familiar with the ministry before I ever was. You just don't remember."

"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"If all men are as dense as you, I rejoice that my husband died when he did." Cathy's tone grew  softer as she continued, "Don't you see, Steed? Emma and you were both brainwashed to forget that you were engaged to be married and to think that a made up man named Peter Peel was Emma’s husband."

"Why would only us two be brainwashed? Why not you? Or Tara?"

"Because you and Emma are. engaged. to. each other." She spelled it out succinctly, in case the idea hadn't registered in Steed's brain yet. “Emma is the fiancée I spoke of that was erased from your memory.”

Steed gawked at her for several minutes, momentarily forgetting his good manners. Then, he  regained his composure enough to ask, "Do you have any proof of this?"

Cathy withdrew a several fold pieces of paper from her purse to reveal all the information from  John and Emma's personnel files at the agency. Both of their data had explicit details on their  relationship from when they met in 1961 to their reprogramming the next year.

"That's why Mother was so infuriated when Tara was trying to find Mrs. Peel—er Emma’s file!" Steed remarked as he perused the papers. His heart rate started to accelerate. “No, I can’t do this.” He tossed the papers aside and clutched his head in his hands.

Cathy placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Steed. I have two agents working on the inside of the ministry. They’re going to get you deprogrammed. And then you can help me bring in Emma.”

“But she doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Probably because she thinks the feelings she has for you are indecent. She doesn’t know her husband was created to keep a barrier between the two of you.”

“Oh.” A light was beginning to dawn in Steed’s grey eyes. “Poor...Emma." He grinned, enjoying saying Emma's first name without having to worry about propriety.

"I must warn you that if Mother ever knew that you had found out the truth, he'd brainwash you again. He thinks that if you two get married, you'll start fooling around on the job."

"Of all the absurd ideas. I always wait until after a case!"

"This is no time for jokes. You must be very careful." Cathy marched towards the door. "We need to get you to the ministry now. The deprogramming process is much quicker than the brainwashing, but you’ll be indisposed for several hours. I'll have to pick up Miss King for you from hospital.”

"Thank you, Mrs. Gale. Poor girl, she'll be brokenhearted when she learns I’m spoken for." Little did he know that she had been aware of the true state of affairs since yesterday.

"Tara mustn't know the truth unless absolutely necessary,” Cathy warned. “After you’re done, please return these papers to their proper files before someone discovers that they're missing."

"May I have the papers to show to Mrs. P—Emma?"

"Oh, all right, but I don't want you to be caught with them."

"If there's one thing you shouldn't do, it's to worry about me." Steed mulled for a brief moment before stating ominously, "I think it's time to have a talk with our dear Mother."

"It will be very dangerous of you to confront Mother, but I'm with you all the way." Cathy smiled shortly, and the two exited the vicinity.

****

Emma stumbled out of her bedroom for the first time that day, a throbbing headache, the sure  sign of a hangover, wracking her head. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and how she had managed to sleep at all earlier that morning was an enigma to her. But she must have, for the last thing she remembered was staring at the ceiling, wondering why she had been so cruel to Steed.

Emma trudged to her kitchen, ready to make a repast of some sort out of the minuscule amount  of food in her refrigerator. Grabbing for the eggs, she thought of Steed's stinger and realised he  wouldn't be coming over to fix her one. Maybe she could fix herself a "national anthem," as  Steed called his concoction.

After finishing her meal, which she hardly touched, Emma sat on her couch. She began  skimming through a magazine, but her thoughts were elsewhere. What was Steed doing at the  moment? Was he missing her as much as she was missing him?

As if answering her query, her front door swung open, and Steed came strolling into her living area, whistling merrily. "Good afternoon, my dear. How are you? My, you look gloomy. Are you sure you slept all right? Oh, it's probably that little hangover. I'll fix you my 'national anthem,' and you'll feel better in no time."

Emma's first reaction to seeing Steed in her flat was to fling her arms around him in happiness, but fortunately, she resisted that impulse. Her next impulse was to demand what he was doing in her flat, which she did with impunity. "What are you doing here after I specifically told you we couldn't see each other anymore?"

"I came to make you my stinger." Steed looked around, his eyes glistening with mischief. "Where's your husband, my dear?"

"He's—he didn't arrive yet," Emma lied rather awkwardly. "Please leave. It isn't right that you  should be here."

Steed was paying no heed to her and had wandered into her kitchen. "I'll need Worcestershire sauce, one egg, salt, and, of course, a glass.” Steed gathered all the ingredients and grabbed the nearest object, a coffee cup. As he mixed all the contents, he began humming “Rue Britannia” as if nothing was wrong.

Emma gazed desperately at this impudent man. "Steed, I'm going to have to remove that button  from my door, so you can't get into my flat on your own anymore."

"That won't do any good if I'm standing here in your kitchen. Now drink this, my dear."  Emma gave a cry of despair but willingly took the concoction. After consuming the disgusting  mixture, she began shakily, "Please go away."

"How can you send me away when I'm madly in love with you?" Steed advanced towards her,  grinning wildly. “Isn’t that amazing? I can finally say it!”

"This isn't happening to me!" Emma moaned as she evaded his reaching arms.

"Emma, say you love me, and I'll go away forever." Steed stared earnestly at her, but she  merely shook her head. He continued to fix her with puppy dog eyes.

Seeing that he wasn’t budging, Emma mustered enough courage to proclaim, "Steed, I love you. There, I said it, so go away!" She dashed into her bedroom and shut the door.

"Did you really mean that, or were just trying to get rid of me?" Steed shouted to her through the  door. "Oh, and call me ‘John.’"

"Why should I call you ‘John’?" Emma asked, avoiding the other question.

"It's only fitting since I'm calling you ‘Emma.’"

"I did not give you permission to use my Christian name!" Emma yelled back at him.

"Emma....please open the door and come out." There was only silence in response. Steed realised he may have pushed the resolute Emma Knight too far. It was going to be very difficult to get her to the deprogramming facility if she was locked in her bedroom. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” he called. He marched loudly over to her front door and slammed it shut. Then he crept back to her bedroom and hid behind the door.

After several interminable minutes of quiet, she stepped out. Unfortunately for her, Steed was still standing silently outside, waiting. Before she could retreat to her room again, Steed grabbed her by the arms. "Now let's be perfectly honest with each other. Mr. Peel is not going to be coming home any time in the near future, is he?" Steed grunted in satisfaction as Emma nodded, chagrined. "Well, I have some news for you, my dear: Mr. Peter Peel doesn't even exist."

Emma gazed at him in shock and disbelief. "If you weren't so deadly serious, I would be  scolding you for such a lie until I was blue in the face."

"Before you start reprimanding me, remember that you haven't exactly been the most truthful  person as of late." Emma began to protest, but Steed checked her. "While we're on the subject of husbands and husbands-to-be, it may also interest you to know that Mrs. Gale's tale about me being brainwashed is one hundred percent true."

"You mean to tell me that you are engaged to be married, yet you have the audacity to make declarations of love to me?" Emma wrenched her arms out of his grasp and stalked to the front door.

Before she could yank it open and usher him out, Steed added, "You were also brainwashed to  forget that you're engaged to me!"

Emma stared at him incredulously, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. For several minutes she stood by the front door, as silent as a mute. Finally she gained her speech back. “I think you have an—”

“Overactive imagination?” Steed supplied. “That’s self-hypnosis talk for ‘I’m coming too close to the truth so I must brush it off as rubbish.’

Her heart was hammering in her rib cage. "Could it really be true, Steed?" she gasped.

Steed retrieved the personnel files from his coat pocket and handed them to his affianced. While she was studying them, Steed retold the whole story of why they were brainwashed. He made sure to put special emphasis on One-Ten’s ridiculous reasons for separating them.

Emma was growing dizzier by the minute. Steed stopped his explanation to pat her hand. “And now you will join Smyth and me as the first three successfully deprogrammed agents.”

Emma arched a perfectly manicured brow. “Smyth?”

“Mrs. Gale needed an inside man so she tricked him into it this morning.”

“Remind me to get a ridiculously expensive present for Mrs. Gale,” Emma said as she was escorted to the agency.

Steed kept Mother occupied with a debriefing of yesterday’s kidnapping, while Smyth, Mother’s right hand man (as opposed to Rhonda, who was his right hand woman) authorised Emma’s deprogramming. When Steed was done, Mrs. Parker arrived to distract Mother some more, and Smyth sneaked the personnel files back into the off-limits room. 

When the process had finished, Emma was smuggled back out, and Steed took her home. 

“That's why my memory of my husband has been hazy!” Emma concluded as they relived formerly lost memories. “Because he never existed in the first place. It was only an idea. Every little mystery makes sense now. Mother hired Richard Thoms to be my husband because he wanted to separate us again. Thoms was killed, Avery took over, and he almost succeeded in murdering us both."

"He wasn't even close to killing us," Steed argued defensively.

Emma ignored him and continued, "Now I know why the picture of my husband looked like you, because he  _ is _ you!" She walked over to the large photo that was still facing the wall. She turned it over and gazed at it affectionately. "Husband ‘Peter,’ meet…fiancé John."

Steed tipped his bowler in jest. "Delighted to meet you, old chap. May I say that you are looking remarkably well this evening?" They both chuckled, utterly amused at their joke.

"To be perfectly serious, I'm very much relieved to find that this picture is of you. I was wrestling  with the idea of why this photo that was taken on a romantic trip to Italy looked just like you.”

“It’s nice to remember that the ‘business’ trip I took to Italy was actually spent with you,” Steed added with a wink.

“What I don't understand is why my locket has the initials E. K. P. carved on it instead of E. K. S."

Emma lifted the locket that was hanging around her neck and undid the latch. She and John  examined it carefully, rubbing at the grudge to see the initials better. When most of the grime had been worn away, Emma could see that the melted letters did indeed say E. K. S.

"The melted letters were so dirty that I couldn't read it properly," she declared.

"How fortunate for every ministry head that the initials were illegible," Steed said dryly. 

“I’m guessing the fire inspector that originally threw out my locket was actually an agency man,” Emma surmised. “He didn’t realise I had retrieved it.”

Steed helped her put her necklace back on, and then he tenderly lifted her chin. “I wonder if I remember how to do this?” he teased. His eyes twinkled with mirth and love as he kissed Emma amorously on the lips. Emma returned the gesture with equal emotion, and the two seemed lost in another world for a moment.

"A wonderful performance, you two," came a husky voice. Mother wheeled into view, accompanied by Smyth. "It seems a shame that I have to break up this romantic business."

"If it bothers you that much, you could just leave us the way we are," Steed replied in a tranquil  voice that hid his sarcasm rather efficiently. He held on to Emma as if Mother's irritatingly serene voice had the power to take her away from him.

"Before anything gets violent, perhaps we could reason the situation out together?" Emma  suggested.

"What is there to work out, Miss Knight? You and Steed know you're engaged to each other, so now when you're on a case, you'll put the safety and well-being of each other before the mission. Even worse, you might force Steed to quit the ministry to keep him safe. We can’t lose one of our top agents due to sentimentality."

“We already  _ do _ put ourselves before the mission,” Steed protested. “How does changing Emma’s name and marital status stop that?”

“Now both of you might let your amorous feelings botch an assignment.” Mother smiled menacingly before adding, "We'll just brainwash you to save time."

"How do you know that we will goof around during a case? We never did before when we didn't  know the truth, and we had just as many feelings for each other then as we do now." Steed crossed his arms across his chest and waited for the answer.

"That was the whole point of programming Emma and you to think she was married to someone  else. As long as she wasn't free, there remained a barrier that you couldn't cross because of your propriety. No respectable rogue would fool around with a married woman."

Steed tried to think of a proper response to that logic. As he was musing, Cathy suddenly burst  through the door, Tara following behind her. "I had the most terrible premonition that you two were in trouble. I see that my intuition was not wrong." Cathy gave a side-eye to Smyth before adding, "I didn't have time to drop off Tara, or I would have done so."

"You're just in time to see Steed and Mrs. Peel get brainwashed again." Smyth nodded imperceptibly to Cathy.

She pulled out her gun and smiled foxily as Mother. "Sorry, I’m not in the mood." 

Mother backed his chair into a wall, cowering before this strong woman. “Smyth, do something.”

“Oh, I am.” Smyth pulled out his own revolver and aimed it at his boss. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I was deprogrammed this morning, and I can no longer go along with the ministry’s mad schemes.”

"It appears you are outnumbered, four to one, and when I tell Tara the truth, it will be five."  Steed sneered.

"I already know the truth," Tara faltered as she stepped forward. "Mother told me yesterday, and I was ordered to forget it all."

"How could you forget something as important as two people being brainwashed?" Emma asked in disbelief.

Tara didn't answer, so Steed said, "You knew I was spoken for yesterday, yet you deliberately  started proclaiming your love for me, in hopes I shared the same feelings?!? That's an abominable thing to do!" At Steed’s chastisement, Tara began to cry quietly.

Steed immediately felt pity for the love struck lass and whirled around to face his superior. "Are you satisfied yet, Mother? You've now made countless people's lives miserable because of your own selfishness and stupidity." Steed advanced towards the obese man, fighting the urge to rap Mother's head with his brolly. "Can't you see that it's foolish to continue this procedure of brainwashing? You can't control people's lives just for your benefit and security! Someone will always displease you, and you just can't keep on programming them. After a while, they'll be more machine than human!"

Mother's head snapped back at this comment, his eyes lit up with understanding. Emma  and Cathy were beaming proudly at his oration, and even Tara had quit her sniffling to listen.

"Brainwashing helps no one but the person doing it. Everyone who's aware of the ordeal is  caught up in a network of lies that is a detriment, not only to the brainwashed victims, but to  themselves. If you can't see the procedure in this way, then I'm afraid I can't work under you. I'll  just have to join some other organisation."

Mother still did not speak, so Smyth added, "I cannot be your right hand man anymore either. I must join forces with Steed, even though I'm completely jealous of him."

"Why on earth are you jealous of Steed?" Emma asked.

"Steed always has the best of everything: the most beautiful women to work with, the most  wonderful fiancée, the best missions. Everyone admires him, except the criminals, and even then some of the female villains seem to find him charming. I always get the second best with everything, including my wife. I had already been divorced for five years before I was programmed to forget my ex even existed."

"Well, maybe if you acted more like Steed, people would appreciate you more," Tara replied  almost accusingly.

Cathy, who had been listening with deepest sympathy, cried, "Don't you dare start acting like  that ladies' man, John Steed! You're fine the way you are—except for your tendency  to be ruthless."

Smyth suddenly turned red with pleasure. "Mrs. Gale, I didn't know you felt that way! I always was so jealous when you and Steed were working together. But my programming prevented me from acting on my feelings." He walked over to Cathy and took her gently by the hand.

"That's one of the reasons I never told you, Smyth!" Cathy sighed but then smiled slightly. "Let's  forget about the horrid past and think about the future, which involves helping all those who have been brainwashed." She got out of his tender grasp and turned to Mother, who seemed to still be brooding.

Tara tentatively addressed Steed, "I'm awfully sorry about my behaviour, Steed. I realise now that I could have never won your affection, so I…I release you." She knew she never had Steed to begin with, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

She strolled over to him and gave him his engagement ring for Emma. “Cathy left it at your home, and I took it. I was planning on getting rid of it, but now I want you to have it, so you can—can give it back to Emma."

Steed gingerly slipped the ring into his coat pocket. "Thank you very much, Tara." He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. It seemed too much for the girl, for she crimsoned and almost toppled over in ecstasy.

"That reminds me," Emma began, "I thought all of my valuables related to my ‘husband,’ who I now know was Steed, were destroyed in a great fire, but there never was such a catastrophe."

"I can supply the answer to that, Miss Knight." Smyth rubbed his hands together nervously. "Everything was taken to a storage facility, with the understanding that once an agent was past his or her prime, they would get their memories and valuables back. You can come over any time and pick up your articles."

"With all this talk you'd think I wasn't going to brainwash you all again," Mother said suddenly.

All eyes turned expectantly towards this powerful man, and for a brief moment, no none dared breathe. Emma stood in a kung fu stance, ready to use the manoeuvre on Mother if need be. Steed stood next to his beloved, eager to assist her with anything. Cathy put her hand on the trigger, even though she really didn't want to use the weapon.

Mother gazed from one face to another and sighed. "As it is, I feel that I don't need to brainwash  anyone. It was an antiquated and deeply flawed programme left over from the early days.” He waved his hand dismissively. “So you two can continue your life together without any more interference from me."

"Steed, isn't it wonderful?" Emma cried as she flung her arms around his neck.

Steed swung her around several times before he stopped and kissed her gently on the lips. "We  can continue spying until we're old and grey."

"I'll give them a couple months, and if it doesn't work out, I'll brainwash them again," Mother muttered inaudibly.

"Well, you certainly made a wise decision, Mother," was Cathy's response. She addressed the ecstatic couple. "My congratulations to the both of you. I knew we could do it." With that cheerful remark, she and Smyth exited the building together.

Tara was a little more dismal about the news. "I hope someday I can find another man like you,  Steed, and that we'll be as happy as you two. My only question is, who's going to be my partner  now?"

"I think I have the right chap for you, Tara," Mother replied. "Do you remember my nephew, Basil? He's a new agent and needs a fairly experienced person, like yourself, to be his partner.

Come, we can discuss the details at my office outside." He pointed out the window to a double  decker bus, indicating his "office."

Tara took one last look at Steed before quitting the apartment. "I'll miss you, Steed."

"Don't be so gloomy, acting like we can never meet again. I'll come visit you as often as you like," Steed assured her.

"Maybe we could become good friends, Tara," Emma suggested optimistically.

Tara smiled a bittersweet smile and answered, "I sincerely hope so, Miss Knight." She exited the  flat with Mother.

Once everyone had gone, Steed and Emma sat down on her sofa with relief. Steed patted his pocket until he found the ring. “Now that we’re alone, I can finally give you back what belongs to you,” he said huskily as he slipped the ring on her finger.

“What? You’re not going down on one knee?” Emma joked.

“Live with the memory of the first time I did it, my dear, eight years and hundreds of missions earlier.”

Emma smirked at his comment and admired the diamond. "I wonder," she began slowly, "where we should live? Here or at your flat?"

"We'll rent a new flat, so we won't have to argue about it."

"Sounds like a reasonable idea to me." Emma stood up and poured them some champagne from her personal bar. "How about we go out to dinner to celebrate our newfound engagement?"

"Splendid, I can finally take you to that little French Cafe I told you so much about." Steed  sipped his champagne gingerly.

"Now, what should we do in the meantime?" Emma gazed at him for a suggestion.

Steed nearly choked on his champagne, since the answer seemed obvious to him. Raising his  eyebrows, he turned the other way to regain his composure. Finally he managed to say seductively, "I'm sure we can think of something if we put our heads together."

Emma smiled demurely, finally catching on. "I hope you don't grow tired of me, Steed. You are  going to be seeing an awful lot of me for an awfully long time."

"The more time we have together, the better."

Smiling, the two great Avengers exchanged their famous mutual glance and raised their glasses  for a toast. "To many more years of being together!" Steed exclaimed.

"To us!" Emma added quietly, and Steed didn't need to ask what that meant. With Emma, he just  knew.

#  Tag

"Are you ready yet, my dear?" Steed asked as he set his bowler and brolly on the counter. He  gazed in the direction of Emma's bedroom, wondering what was taking so long.

"I'm just about finished," Emma called as she stepped out of her room. She was trying, with  great difficulty, to connect the clasp of her faux ruby necklace. Finally she managed to latch it,  and she smiled provocatively at Steed.

"You'll love the cafe, Mrs. Peel," Steed exclaimed. "I even spruced up my trusty Bentley for the  occasion."

Emma's smile vanished as he called her by her fake name. "Poor John, don't tell me that you  were brainwashed again!"

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Peel? Brainwashing indeed! I never heard of anything so ridiculous. You must have an overactive imagination."

"What are we going to do?!"

Steed stared at her for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, and then kissed her passionately. "Is that better, my dear? I promise I won't trick you again."

Emma picked up his bowler and swatted him on the nose with it. "That was a very naughty joke you played, giving me quite a fright." Steed merely grinned in response and escorted her out the door.

When Emma saw Steed's green Bentley, she came to a complete halt. "Are you positive all  _ that _ is necessary?" She pointed to the car, indicating that the sprucing Steed had done was not appreciated by her. "Besides, isn't it a bit dishonest?"

"I don't see what's so dishonest about the trimming. We  _ did _ just discover we were engaged, so  eliminate the words, 'discovered we were,' and the sign is most befitting."

Emma shrugged and waited patiently as Steed helped her into the car and then hopped into the  driver's seat. With a pop and a bang, his old jalopy took off down the street. The tin cans and  other noisy objects that were tied to the back clattered behind them, and the sign which read  "Just Engaged to be Married," billowed in the breeze.  Steed turned a corner, and the two rode off into the sunset.

The End?


End file.
